
Book ■ M ii VJ 










^o-^lj- 



SIR THOMAS MORE 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES 



ILLUSTRATED FROM HIS OWN WRITINGS, AND FROM 
CONTEMPORARY DOCUMENTS. 



BY W. JOS. WALTER, 

LATE OF ST. EDMUND's COLLEGE 






Like Cato firm, like Aristides just, 
Like rigid Ciricinnatus nobly poor, 
A dauntless soul, erect, who smil'd on death. 

Thomson, 



PHILADELPHIA: 

PUBLISHED BY E. L. CAREY & A. HART. 

NEW-ORLEANS : 

WILLIAM M'KEAN. 

AND SOLD BY THE BOOKSELLERS GENERALLY 
THROUGHOUT THE UNITED STATES. 

1839.' 



ON MORE'S PORTRAIT. 

From Flolbein's hand, it is the portraiture 
Of More, the mild, the learned, and the good; 
Trac'd in that better stage of hiinsan life, 
When vain imaginations, troublous thoughts. 
And hopes and fears have had their course, and left 
The intellect compos'd, the heart at rest; 
Nor yet decay hath touch'd our mortal frame. 
Such was the man, whom Henry, of desert 
Appreciant alway, chose for highest trust; 
Whom England in that eminence approved, 
Whom Europe honored, and Erasmus loved. 

gouTHEY, Poet Lcmreatc. 



TO 

SAMUEL, 
\RCHBISHOP OF BALTIMORE, 

THIS VOLUME IS INSCRIBED 

WITH SENTIMENTS 

OF THE HIGHEST RESPECT 

AND ESTEEM. 



This work is published under the 
immediate sanction of the Very Rev- 
erend, the Archbishop of Baltimore. 



PREFACE. 



In one of his latest works, the lamented Sir 
James Mackintosh challenged the zeal of the Catho- 
lics as a body. His words are these: — " Being- now 
restored to their just rank in society, the Roman 
Catholics have no longer an excuse for not con- 
tinuing this useful work:" — he is speaking of Dodd's 
Church History.* It might be asked whether a 
greater latitude could not have been given to this 
appeal, so as to have included the lives and writings 
of the many eminent statesmen and scholars, both 
lay and ecclesiastic, who at once illustrated the 
faith of their fathers, and the age in which they 
flourished, and who are justly entitled to our grate- 
ful regard 1 

The object of the present volume, as it will be 
of the series by which it is to be followed, is a 
humble endeavor to respond to the call thus made, 
and which, coming from such a quarter, is entitled 
to serious attention. 

* At the moment of setting up the above, an advertisement 
in the London Times informs us that Sir James's appeal to 
Catholic scholarship has not been vv^ithout its effect. The first 
part of Dodd's Churcli History has issued from the press, under 
the editorship of the Rev. M. A. Tierney, F. S. A. 



We commence with the Life and Times of Sir 
Thomas More, one of the most prominent names in 
the English Catholic annals. This remarkable man 
claims attention under all the varied relations of the 
good father, the enlightened statesman, the elegant 
historian, and the no contemptible champion in the 
field of controversy. 

The sources of our information have been : 

1. More's collected English works, edited by his 
nephew Rastell, in 1557, Black Letter, Folio, pp. 
1460. 

2. More's Latin works, including the collection 
of his and Erasmus's letters. Basle, 1563. 

3. The Life of More, by his son-in-law William 
Roper, first printed in Paris, 1626. 

4. The two anonymous Lives of More preserved 
smong the Lambeth MSS. of which one has been 
published by Dr. Wordsworth in his " Ecclesias- 
tical Biography." Rastell was known to have writ- 
ten a life of his uncle, but it was never printed. 
Now the author of the life given by Wordsworth, 
speaks of himself as " collecting the works of More 
for publication." This avowal appears to indentify 
it as the work of Rastell, and under his name it will 
be cited in the following pages. 

5. The Life of More which has hitherto gone 
under the name of " Mr- Thomas More," the great 
grandson of the chancellor. The Rev. Jos. Hunter 
has, however, satisfactorily proved it to be from the 
pen of Cresacre More, his grandson. The references 
to this work in the present volume, will be under 
the head " Cresacre." 



PREFACE. V 

6. The " State Papers of the reign of Henry 
VIII.;" an invaluable work, published in London 
(1830) under his majesty's commission. 

The more recent accounts of Sir Thomas, are 
little else than copies from these works, and throw 
no new light on his history. 

"It is impossible to speak rightly of an age gone 
by, without allowing it to speak for itself," is the 
axiom of a modern German historian. The observa- 
tion will equally apply to men as to eras; and, guided 
by this rule, it has been the object of the compiler 
of the present volume, to allow the hero of the 
piece, as far as possible, to tell his own story, in 
his own words. If an author's true autobiography 
be his own writings, then is it no presumption to 
say, that entire justice has not yet been done to Sir 
Thomas's life. It must be confessed that the ap- 
pearance of the voluminous black letter folio, which 
contains his works, is not inviting, and it has pos- 
sibly deterred many from examining its contents, 
and identifying its varied materials with the history 
of the writer.* It has been the endeavor of the pre- 
sent volume to supply that defect; and it is hoped 
that the writer's researches have enabled him to 
throw some of the features of More's character into 
bolder relief. " Some particulars in the life of More," 
says Sir J. Mackintosh, " 1 am obliged to leave 

* A copy of this rare volume enriches the Philadelphia Li- 
brary. In speaking of that excellent institution, rich in most 
of the departments of learning, the writer cannot allow the 
opportunity to pass of acknowledging the kind attentions re- 
ceived from Mr. Smith, the librarian, and irom his intelligent 
son. 

1* 



to more fortunate inquirers." To the praise of hav- 
ing- accomplished this the present endeavor can 
hardly hope to aspire; all the merit to which it can 
lay claim is that of patient labor and diligent re- 
search. 

Desirous of reproducing- a faithful picture of the 
time, he has taken pleasure in weaving into his nar- 
rative the many simple traits of domestic manners 
wdth which the pages of More's family biographers 
abound. In these faithful records, Sir Thomas is 
brought before us " in the habit in which he lived," 
and we are transported to the very hearth-stone of 
his domestic circle. Good taste will not be offended 
at these household scenes, and will readily teach 
us to make the necessary distinction between deli- 
cacy and fastidiousness. In several recent bio- 
graphical works, evidence has been given of a dis- 
position to admire and to adopt the simplicity of an 
earlier age; and, in place of a display of pompous 
and elaborate authorship, to allow the graphic and 
less artificial narration of our forefathers, to find its 
place. In a word, the truth has been recognised, 
that, in order faithfully to portray the manners of an 
age, due attention must be had to the costume of 
thought by which it was characterized. 

With respect to the historical portion of the 
volume — the rise of the reformation, the origin and 
progress of Henry's divorce, &c., it would have 
been presumption to go over the same ground with 
Dr. Lingard. All the writer has done has been to 
avail himself of the " State Papers" and other docu- 
ments that have recenil}^ come before the public, in 



PREFACE. Vll 

order to carry out some parts of the subject more 
fully ; as, for instance, the details of Wolsey's 
embassy to France, the judicial proceedings in the 
divorce, Cranmer's termination of that affair, the 
dignified resistance of Queen Catharine to the in- 
justice of her persecutors, &c. To the youthful 
reader in particular, it is hoped that these graphic 
details of manners and character will prove ac- 
ceptable. 

The present volume will be immediately followed 
by a second, containing "The Beauties of Sir 
Thomas More, or Selections from his writings in 
prose and verse." Such a collection is a necessary 
sequel to the volume now before the reader, in order 
to enable him fully to enter into More's character, 
and appreciate his genius and acquirements. Sir 
Thomas's views, moral and political, are allowed to 
have been in advance of his age. " Those who 
know only his J/'/ojom," observes Sir James Mackin- 
tosh, " will acknowledge that he left little of ancient 
wisdom uncultivated, and that it anticipates more 
of the moral and political speculation of modern 
times, than can be credited v/ithout a careful pe- 
rusal." 

In conclusion, the writer wishes it were permitted 
him to address his readers in the language of that 
great master of his art, whose genius has imparted 
an additional interest to this portion of English 

history : 

Things now 
That bear a weighty and a serious brow, 
Sad, high and working, full of state and woe, 
Such noble scenes as teach the eye to flow, 



Ill PREEACE. 

We here present. Think that ye see before ye 
The very persons of our noble story, 
As they were living . . . . . 

Then, in a moment, see. 

How soon this mightiness meets misery ! 

Skakspeare, Prologue to Henry VIII. 

Philadelphia, July, 1839. 



CONTENTS. 



CHAPTER I. 

1480—1501.- ffiTAT. 28. 

MoRE's Youth— Education— Study of the Law- 
Marriage, -------13 

CHAPTER II. 

1508—1517. iSTAT. 36, 

More UNDER-SnERirF of London — Ambassador to 
Flanders— Knighted and Accepts Office, - 29 

CHAPTER in. 

1512—1517. iETAT. 36. 

More in the Bosom of his Family, - - - 51 

CHAPTER IV. 

1517—1526. iSTAT. 43. 

More at Court— Q,uells a Popular Tumult — Is 
made Treasurer of the Exchequer — Defends 
Henry against Luther — Made Speaker of the 
House of Commons, - - - - - 77 



10 CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER V. 

1525—1529. iETAT. 50. 

The Divorce — The Mission to France — More as a 
Controversialist — The Sweating Sickness — Em- 
bass y TO THE Netherlands, - - - - 115 

CHAPTER VI. 

1529-1532. ^TAT. 53. 

Progress of the Divorce — Wolsey's Disgrace — 
More made Chancellor — Rise of Crumwell — 
More Resigns the Chancellorship — Lord Aud- 
ley Chancellor, 147 

CHAPTER VII. 

1532—1534. ^tat. 54. 

More in his Retirement — New Domestic Arrange- 
ments — His Poverty — Offering of the Bishops 
—Accusation and Apology — Cranmer — Mar- 
riage of Henry and Anne Boleyn — The Nun op 
Kent — Bishop Fisher — More Accused of Mis- 
prison OF Treason — Statutes of Succession and 
Allegiance — More Refuses the Oath— Commit- 
ted to the Tower, . . . - - 197 

CHAPTER VIII. 

1534—1535. ^tat. 55. 

More in the Tower— Project of his Daughter 



CONTENTS. 11 

Margaret — Correspondence of Mrs. Alington 
AND Margaret — Private Examinations of More 
IN THE Tower — His Trial — Defence — Reply to 
Rich — His Sentence — Interrogatories put to 
HIM after his Trial — His Execution, - - 268 

CHAPTER IX. 
Opinions respecting More, _ - _ - 352 



APPENDIX. 

GluEEN Catherine and King Henry to Cardinal 

WOLSEY A joint LETTER— (1574,) - - 373 

More's Epitaph, composed by himself, - - 374 



SIR THOMAS MORE, 

HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 



CHAPTER I. 

1480—1508. ^TAT. 28. 



MORe's youth— education — STUDY OF THE LAW- — 
MARRIAGE. 

Ancestry of More— Anecdotes of his infancy— Early Education 
in London— Received into ihe family of Cardinal Morton — 
His early talents and wit — Studies at Oxford— Return to 
London, and amplication to the Law — Incii nation for a Re- 
ligious Life — Dean Colet — Places liimself under his direction 
— Marries— Is elected to Parliament— Instances of his early 
Patriotism— Death of Henry VII. 

That examples of past ages move us more than 
those of our own time, may, probably, be in part 
ascribed to the reverence we feel for antiquity, and 
to the mysterious veneration which hangs around the 
memory of the illustrious dead. Objects that are 
viewed through the medium of a softening distance, 
lose many of those blemishes and inequalities, which 
approximation allows us to discover. There are 
some characters, however, which have borne with 
them to the tomb so few of the failings of our nature, 
that they have no need of this illusion of antiquity 
to invest them with an interest not their own. In 
this number may be ranked the subject of our 
Memoir. 

Thomas, the only son of Sir John More, was born 
at his father's residence in Milk Street, London, in 



14 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

1480, in the 20th year of the reig-n of Edward the 
Fourth, and five years previous to the accession of 
Henry the Seventh. 

Of the public life of his father, vi^e have few par- 
ticulars up to the time of his appearing as one of the 
judges of the King's Bench. He is thus described 
by his affectionate son: " A man courteous and pleas- 
ant in his manners, harmless, gentle, full of compas- 
sion, just and incorrupt. He was old indeed in 
years, but young and hale in bodily strength. After 
living to see his son Chancellor of England, and 
thinking he had tarried long enough on earth, he 
passed willingly to heaven."* 

The maiden name of his mother was Handcombe, 
daughter of Sir Thomas Handcombe of Holywell, 
in Bedfordshire. The age of portents was not yet 
gone by; and Dr. Clement, a famous physician of 
the time, and afterwards the intimate friend of the 
subject of our memoir, reports of her, that, on the 
night after the marriage, she saw, in a dream, 
engraven on her wedding ring, the number and cha- 
racters of her children; the face of one shining with 
superior brightness. Another presage of the child's 
future eminence, related by his nurse, is, that one 
day as she was riding with him in her arms over a 
piece of water, the horse slipped by accident into a 
deep and dangerous hole. To save her infant charge, 
she threw him over a hedge into a field, and having 
afterwards, with much difficulty, extricated herself 
from her perilous situation, she found him, to her 
no small surprise, not only unhurt, but sweetly 
smiling in her face.f 

* Camden, in his Remains, relates a saying of Sir John, 
which may not prepossess the fair sex in his favor. He com- 
pared a man choosing a wife, "to one who dipped his hand 
into a bag containing twenty snakes and one single eel — it was 
twenty to one that he caught the eel!" After this our fair read- 
ers will be surprised to hear, that the worthy old gentleman 
had the resolution to take three dips himself; and it will be 
satisfactory to know that he had the good fortune each time to 
avoid the serpents; winch we are willing to believe existed only 
in his active imagination. 

t In the dedication of Hoddeston's " History of Sir Thomas 
More," (1650) is the following quaint allusion to this circum- 



HIS LIFE AND TIMKS. 15 

More received the first rudiments of his ed ucation, 
in the school of St. Anthony, in Tlireadneedle St. 
belonging to a hospital of the same name, which had 
been in high reputation since the time of Henry VI, 
and a learned man, named Nicholas Holt, Vv^as his 
master, under whom, to use More's own expression, 
lie " rather greedily devoured than leisurely chewed" 
his grammar rules, and surpassed all his school- 
fellows in understanding and diligent application. 

By the interest of his father. More afterward be- 
came an inmate in the house, and attached to the 
retinue of Cardinal Morton, one of Henry the Se- 
venth's most favored and valuable ministers. In 
those days, when not wealth and power only, but 
knowledge, elegance and nearly all the refinements 
of life, were monopolised by a few favored individ- 
uals, there was but little hope of advancement for 
the aspiring youth of lowly, or indeed of middle 
rank, but what arose from the expectation of finding 
a powerful and generous patron. Nor was it resorted 
to merely with a view to worldly honors; laymen of 
taste and learning were compelled to avail them- 
selves of this species of patronage, if they wished 
to enjoy the advantage of the best conversation, and 
acquire the elegant accomplishments of the times. 
Persons of respectable condition were, therefore, 
anxious to offer their sons' services as the price of 
advantages otherwise unattainable. Like the squire 
attending the knight-errant of an older period, a 
young gentleman did not think it beneath his dig- 
nity to serve a kind of regular apprenticeship to 
some noble master; to wait at his table, to carry his 
train, and perform a hundred little duties, which in 
our more refined age would be termed " menial offi- 
ces." By means of this voluntary humiliation, he 
became known to the great, he found opportunities 
for acquiring useful information, and was prepared, 



stance: " Sir, T have dealt v/ith him as his nurse did — thrown 
him over the hedge into your arms, lest his memory should 
perieli in the waters of Lethe." 



16 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

in those miniature courts, for future eminence in the 
palace and at the council board.* 

The choice made by More's father of a guardian 
for his son, was a wise and fortunate one. Cardi- 
nal Morton was a man of learning, and one of Hen- 
ry's most able ministers; and his personal virtues 
secured him a degree of respect and love, which 
More, in after life, allowed no opportunity to pass 
without gratefnlly recording. Thus, in his cele- 
brated "Utopia," we find him dwelling with delight 
on the Cardinal's excellent qualities; and sketching 
his picture from grateful recollection. " This reve- 
rend prelate," says he, " was not less venerable for 
his wisdom and virtues, than for the high character 
which he bore. He was of a middle stature, not 
broken with age. His look inspired reverence rather 
than fear. He was gentle in communication, and. 
yet earnest and sage. He would try the force of 
those that came as suitors to him, by assuming a 
sharp and inquisitive tone, the better to draw forth 
their spirit and character, in order to judge of their 
fitness for affairs. In speech he was firm, eloquent, 
and pithy. In the law he had profound knowledge; in 
wit he was incomparable, and in memory prodigious. 
These qualities, which in him were by nature singu- 
lar, he had improved by study and experience. 
The king put much trust in his counsels, and the 
public weal also, in a manner, leaned upon him. 
From his youth he had been practised in affairs; 
and having experienced many reverses of fortune, 
he had. with great cost acquired a vast stock of wis- 



* In a paper written, at a somewhat later period, by the Earl 
of Arundel, entitled " Instructions for you, my son William, 
how to behave yourself at Norwich," the Earl thus charges 
him: " You shall in all things reverence, honor, and obey my 
Lord Bishop of Norvvicn, as you would do any of your parents: 
esteeming whatever he shall tell or command you, as if your 
grandmother of Arundel, your mother, or myself should say it. 
In all things esteem yourself as my Lord's page; a breeding 
which youths of my house, far superior to you, were accustom- 
ed unto; for my grandfather of Norfolk, and his brother our 
good uncle of Northampton, were both bred as pages with 
iiishops." 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 17 

dom; which is not soon lost, when it is purchased 
so dearly." 

Nor was Morton less attached to his ward. " He 
much delighted in his wit and towardness," and 
would point him out to the attention of the noble 
guests who were dining with him. — " This child 
here, waiting at table," would he say, " whoever 
shall live to see it, will prove a marvellous man." 

We have seen More characterising his father as 
a " pleasant man;" and he inherited from him the 
lively and mirthful disposition which distinguished 
him through life. While in the cardinal's service, 
we find him signalising himself in the different the- 
atrical entertainnaents which took place during the 
holidays; not as an actor, according to our notions 
of an actor's part, but as a kind of competitor in 
these contests of extemporary wit and drollery, 
which formed the delight of that age. Roper thus 
describes the circumstance: " Though he was 
young of years, yet would he sometimes at Christ- 
mas, suddenly step in among the players, and never 
studying for the matter, make a part of his own 
there presently, among them, which made the look- 
<5rs-on more sport than all the players beside." 
Thus early did he give proof that humor was a na- 
tural ingredient in his composition. 

1497. — His worthy patron seeing " that his 
ward could not profit so much in his house as he 
desired, where there were many distractions of 
public affairs," and wisely judging that so promis- 
ing a young man ought to enjoy every advantage 
his country had to offer, sent him to Oxford, where 
he was entered a member of Christ Church, then 
known by the name of Canterbury College. He 
had then just entered on his seventeenth year. He 
remained two years in the University, and " pro- 
fited exceedingly," says Roper, " in rhetoric, logic, 
and philosophy; proving what wonders wit and 
diligence can accomplish, when united, as they sel- 
dom are, in one principal student. At this period, the 
celebrated Erasmus visited Oxford, and from this 



18 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

epoch dates the intimacy between these remarkable 
men, which lasted for life. It was here also he be- 
came acquainted with Wolsey, who was at that 
time bursar of Magdalen College, and with Dean 
Colet, whose friendship he afterwards so diligently 
cultivated. 

The time in which More entered the university, 
was propitious for the formation of a classical taste; 
for Oxford had then the advantage of possessing 
two men, eminent above any of the age for their 
knowledge of the Greek and Latin tongues. The 
scholars of whom we speak were Grocyn and Lina- 
cre; and, in attending their lectures, More found 
the treasures of ancient learning, thus thrown open 
to him, a source of new delight. To use his grand- 
son's phrase, " his whole soul was set upon his 
books." 

More applied with diligence to add the Greek 
language to his other classical stores; for, at that 
period, it was a rare attainment; and we shall find 
in the sequel, that he continued to be a warm friend 
to the cultivation of that noble language. 

At this age, his father wisely withheld from him 
all supplies of money, but such as were absolutely 
necessary for his college wants, exacting from him 
a most rigorous account of his expenses. More 
felt this a severe privation; yet he was obliged after- 
wards honestly to acknowledge, that this restraint 
was, perhaps, the means of saving him from the dis- 
sipation and vices he saw around him. Lloyd la- 
conically remarks, that " the college kept him 
strict, and his father short."* Such disciphne was 
severe; but More after u^ards thanked God, " that, 
at least, it had allowed him neither the leisure nor 
the means to be vicious." 

1499. — This year More quitted the university, 
and returning to London, took up his residence in 
New Inn, I to study law. " Here," says Roper, 

* Lloyd's Worthies, c. 16. 

t Inn was successively applied, like the French word hotel, 
first to the lown mansion of a great man, and afterwards to 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 19 

*' he very well prospered for his time," and was 
soon after admitted a member of Lincoln's Inn. 

Amidst the bustle and distractions of the capital, 
and surrounded on every side by examples of idle- 
ness, g-aming-, intemperance, and every vice. More 
felt the necessity of redoubled watchfulness over 
himself, wherein, to use his own language, " con- 
sisteth the true wisdom of a Christian man; striving 
lest the handmaid Sense should grow too insolent 
over her mistress Reason," and having learned the 
true signification of those words of Christ; "He 
that hateth his life in this world, keepeth it for life 
everlasting." Under this conviction, he added pe- 
nance to penance. Temptation assailed him; the 
conflict was long and severe; he had recourse to 
much fasting and watching. He seldom allowed 
himself more than four or five hours for sleep; his 
bed was a hard bench, or the ground, with a log for 
his pillow. To these austerities, he also added " a 
discipline every Friday and high fasting day, think- 
ing that such cheer was the best he could bestow 
upon his rebellious body." Not content with this, " he 
used aftertimes to wear a sharp hair-shirt next his 
skin, which he never left oif wholly; no, not even 
when he was Lord Chancellor of England: which my 
grandmother," continues Roper, " on a time, in the 
heat of summer espying, laughed at, not being 
much sensible of such kind of spiritual exercise; 
having been carried away in her youth by the vani- 
ties of the world, and not knowing ' of what spirit' 
such men are, as are led by an especial grace to the 
practice of such austerities." 

1500. In this year, as we find from his grandson, 
that More took up his residence near the Charter 
House, living for four years among the Carthusians, 
and daily frequenting their spiritual exercises, but 
without any vow. There are writers who have af- 
fected surprise, that a man of his activity of mind, and 



a house where all mankind are entertained for money. — Sir J. 
Mackintosh. 



20 Sm THOMAS MORE, 

natural turn for the humorous, should have been 
able to endure the solitude of a cloister; as if there 
were not a time for all things, and as if the above 
qualities were in any way incompatible with ra- 
tional piety, and man's duty towards his Maker. 
" He had an earnest mind also to become a Fran- 
ciscan friar, that he might serve God in a state of 
perfection; but finding that, at that time, religious 
orders in England had somewhat degenerated from 
their ancient strictness, and fervor of spirit, he al- 
tered his mind. He had also, after that, together 
with Lilly, a faithful companion of his, a purpose 
to become a priest: but God had allotted him for 
another estate; not to live solitary, but that he 
might be a pattern to married men, how they should 
■carefully bring up their children, how dearly they 
should love their wives; and how, while they em- 
ployed their endeavors wholly for the good of their 
country, they should at the same time faithfully fol- 
low the virtues of religious men, as piety, charity, 
humility, obedience, and chastity." 

1503. The death of Elizabeth, queen to Henry 
Vn., and mother of Henry VHI., which happened 
this year, afforded More an occasion for the exer- 
cise of his poetical talent. The following lines 
from the " Rueful Lamentation," are not deficient 
in vigor. The illustrious deceased is supposed to 
utter the sentiments. 

Oh ye! that put your trust and confidence 

In worldly joy and frail prosperity; 
That so live here, as ye should never hence, 

Remember death, and look here upon me; 

Methinks ensample cannot better be: 
Yourself well wot, that in this realm was I 
Your Clueen but late—and, lo, now here I lie! 

Where are our castles now, where are our towers? 

Thou, goodly Richmond, soon art gone from me; 
At Westminster, that costly work of yours, 

Mine own dear lord, now shall I never see. 

Almighty God, vouchsafe to grant that ye 
For you and your sons well may edify! 
My palace builded is, and, lo, now here I lie! 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 21 

1504. About this period, we find him delivering 
lectures on St. Augustine's great work De Civitate 
Dei^ in the church of St. Lawrence, Old Jewry. 
We learn from Erasmus, that these lectures were 
numerously attended, and that neither the old and 
experienced, nor the most dignified churchmen of 
the land, were ashamed to derive sacred wisdom 
from the young layman. It is pleasing to find that 
Grocyn, his old Oxford master, was one among the 
number. In our day, avocations so apparently dif- 
ferent as law and divinity-lecturing, would scarcely 
be thought compatible. But it must not be forgot- 
ten that in the times we are describing, very con- 
siderable knowledge in divinity was essential to 
the character of a lawyer. The highest legal offices 
in the state were generally filled by ecclesiastics; 
and More, as it will be seen, was afterwards a rare 
instance of a layman being appointed to fill that of 
Chancellor. 

At this period, we find the subject of our me- 
moir giving a laudable proof of discretion in the 
midst of his devout exercises. Fearful of follow- 
ing his own will, even in meritorious actions, he 
chose for his spiritual director, the famous Colet,* 
dean of St. Paul's, whose acquaintance, as we have 
already seen, he had formed at college. "To this 
ghostly father," to use the words of his grandson, 
" he was as obedient in all spiritual matters, as he 
was to his natural father in all dutiful obligation; 
and from his wholesome lessons he derived the 
greatest profit." On this point, we have pleasure 
in quoting Mr. Tytler: " Though educated in the 
rigid school of Colet, his severities and inflictions 
centered in himself — to others he was indulgent 
and humane; while the sweetness of his temper, 
his ready forgiveness of injuries, his wide and un- 

* Dean Colet {b. 1466— (Z. 1519) was the solo survivor of a 
family of 22 children, and enjoyed a handsome inheritance, 
which he piously employed in the foundation of the celebrated 
school in St. Paul's ohurchyard, in the year 1510, dedicated 
TO THE Child Jesus. It is still famous under the name of St. 
Paul's school, and can boast of a long series of men of eminence. 



22 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

ostentatious charities, and the courage with which 
he was ever ready to peril his life for the faith, 
evinced that his was the genuine fasting-, and holy 
penance of the heart." {Life of Henry VIII. p. 57.) 
Stapleton has preserved a letter from More to Co- 
let, which confirms the great respect and regard in 
which he held this distinguished ecclesiastic; and 
as it presents a natural and pleasing picture of the 
state of his mind at this important period of his life, 
the reader will not be displeased to see it translated. 
" As 1 was walking lately in Westminster Hall, 
where a law case had employed me, I chanced to 
meet your servant lad. I was delighted at the sight 
of him, for he was always a favorite of mine, and 
more especially as 1 thought he could not be here 
without you. Judge, then, of my disappointment, 
when he informed me you were not returned. For 
what can be more grievous to me than to be de- 
prived of your sweet conversation, whose whole- 
some counsel I was wont to enjoy, whose engaging 
familiarity was so refreshing to me, by whose im- 
pressive discourses I have been incited to devotion, 
by whose life and example I have been edified and 
instructed; in a word, in M^hose very countenance I 
have found contentment of heart. Having under 
such auspices once felt strength and confidence, 
deprived of them 1 am utterly cast down. What 
is there in this town to incite any man to a good 
life? Or rather, what is there that doth not, by a 
thousand allurements, draw him from the path of 
virtue, be his dispositions ever so good] on what- 
ever side we turn, what do we hear but, on the 
one hand, the voice of pretended love, or of insidious 
flattery, and, on the other, fierce quarrels, strife, and 
litigation. Wherever we cast our eyes, what do 
we see but tavern-keepers, cooks, &c., who admi- 
nister to the appetite, to the pleasures of the world, 
and to the Evil one who is the prince thereof. 
The very houses rob us of a good part of our light, 
scarcely suffering us to behold the sky; for it is the 
height of the buildings, and not the circle of the 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 23 

horizon, that bounds our prospect. It is for this 
that I can the more readily pardon you for preferring 
a country life. There you find simple souls, void of 
our city craft. Wherever you turn your eye, it 
is cheered by agreeable prospects; the fresh air 
invigorates, while the aspect of the heaven delights 
you; you find nothing there but bounteous gifts of 
nature, and saintly tokens of innocence. Yet would 
I not have you so wholly taken with these delights, 
as not to return to us as speedily as may be. If 
the city displease you, as well it may, yet the coun- 
try about your parish of Stepney, while it claims 
your care, will also afford you comforts like those 
you now enjoy. The country people are harmless 
in comparison with the inhabitants of the city, 
whose crowded state is infectious both for body and 
soul, and demands more skilful physicians. It is 
true that there sometimes come into your pulpit at 
St. Paul's, men who promise wonders in curing the 
spiritual diseases of the people, but when all is 
said and done, their lives are so little in accordance 
with their precepts, that they rather increase than 
alleviate the spiritual complaints of their hearers. 
Sick men are not to be persuaded to let those at- 
tempt their cure, who, God wot! are more sick 
themselves; for a leper to attempt to treat a leper, 
would only excite contempt and aversion. But if 
those are accounted the fittest to effect a cure, 
in whom the sick have the greatest confidence, 
where can one be found so competent to the task 
as yourself? How great the trust reposed in 
your experience of souls, is manifested by the deep 
anxiety felt for your return. Return, then, at length, 
my dear Colet, either for your Stepney's sake, 
which bewails your absence day by day, as doth a 
child that of its mother, or else for London's sake, 
which is your native place, and which you should 
naturally regard as a parent. Meanwhile, I pass 
my time with Grocyn, Linacre, and Lilly; the first 
being, as you know, the director of my life in your 
absence; the second, the master of my studies, and 



24 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

the third, my dearest companion in all I undertake. 
Farewell, and continue to love me as you have 
hitherto done." Colet, in his turn, admired his dis- 
ciple, and was heard to exclaim; " That England 
had but one true wit, and that was young Thomas 
More."* 

1507. It was by the advice of his spiritual direc- 
tor, that More, about this time, decided upon set- 
tling- down in life in the marriage state. In the 
number of his friends was Mr. John Colte, of New- 
hall in Essex.f He was a gentleman of good 
family, who had three daughters, whose personal 
accomplishments, and " honest conversation" at- 
tracted the attention of More, who was now in his 
twenty-seventh year. In the choice which he made, 
we have a remarkable instance of that peculiarity 
of character, that spirit of self-renunciation, which 
distinguished him through life. It appears that 
inclination directed him to the second of these 
young ladies,:): "and yet," says Roper, " when he 
considered within himself, that this would be a 
grief, and a kind of underrating to the eldest, to see 
her younger sister preferred before her, he, out of a 
kind of compassion, settled his fancy upon the el- 
dest, and soon after married her, with all her 
friends' good liking." There may be some who 
will admire the philosophy of More in the instance 
before us, but it may be doubted if he will find 



* Henry the 8th was so persuaded of the merit of Dean Colet, 
that on occasion of some charge attempted to be made against 
him, he was heard to exclaim: " Let others choose what doctor 
they please, Colet is the man for me." — Burnet, vol iii. p. 167. 

t This venerable mansion is still in existence, and is now 
converted into an establishment of considerable repute for the 
education of young ladies, under the superintendance of the 
sisters of the Benedictine order. 

X It has been surmised that to this lady, More subsequently 
addressed his beautiful Latin poem " To Eliza." It turns on 
the pleasing reflection, that his affectionate remembrance re- 
stored to her the beauty of which five-and twenty years 
seemed to others to have robbed her. Competent judges have 
not hesitated to qualify this poem as one of the most beautiful 
productions of the 16lh century. It will be found in our Fol- 
ume of Selections, with an attempt at translation. 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 2^ 

many imitators. We learn from Erasmus, that the 
lady, whose name was Jane, was much younger 
than her husband, and had never quitted the society 
of her parents and sisters in the country. This, he 
adds, was the more agreeable to his friend, as he 
had a better prospect of moulding her character to 
his own. In order to be near his father, we find 
More settling himself in a house in Bucklersbury, 
where he applied himself to his profession with re- 
newed diligence and zeal. At the same time, he 
appears to have spared no means in improving his 
wife's mind, and rendering her life happy. By him, 
she was instructed in polite literature, and in music, 
which had always been his delight, and in which 
he is represented as having been a tolerable profi- 
cient. There was every prospect of long years of 
happiness for the worthy pair; but man proposes 
and God disposes, and this scene of domestic enjoy- 
ment was broken up by her death, six years after 
their union, she having borne her husband several 
children, of whom a son and three daughters sur- 
vived her. 

The year following his marriage. More was elect- 
ed to a seat in the House of Commons, and found 
an early opportunity of discharging a difficult duty 
to his country. Henry the Seventh having resolved 
to marry his daughter Margaret to James the Fifth, 
of Scotland, applied to the Commons for a subsidy, 
rather, as would appear, for the gratification of his 
ruling passion, avarice, than by way of dower for 
his daughter. Be it as it may, there was some dis- 
like evinced as well to the amount, as to the object 
of the sum applied for. That the continued and 
insatiable demands of the king had thoroughly 
tired out the Commons, is evident from the fact, 
that the Scottish match was a popular one, and had 
received the warmest approbation of the citizens of 
London, and of the nation generally: yet More, 
young as he was, and unknown in the field of poli- 
tics, boldly ventured to stand forth against the de- 
mand, and, by his eloquence, and the force of his 
3 



26 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

reasoning', strengthened the courage of the Com- 
mons, and procured its rejection. This was indeed 
a bold step, surrounded as the young orator was, by 
the servile minions of power. One of these, of the 
name of Tyler, hastened to inform the king that a 
beardless boy had frustrated his purpose, and 
Henry, incensed by such an opposition to his dar- 
ling propensity, determined on seeking revenge. 
But in all the harsh measures to which this mo- 
narch had recourse, an accession to his purse was 
the more immediate object, and More was not pos- 
sessed of wealth: Ae, therefore, was suffered to 
escape, but his father, the aged judge, proved a 
more tempting prey. On some groundless charge, 
Sir John More was arrested, committed to the 
Tower, and there confined till his liberty had been 
purchased by the payment of a hundred pounds, a 
sum equal to nearly a thousand in the present day. 
In the meantime, it was deemed prudent for the 
real offender to keep out of the way, and young- 
More gave up his practice at the bar, and retired from 
all public offices, but not before an attempt was made 
to entrap him. Bishop Fox, meeting More shortly 
after the scene in the Commons, called him aside, 
and, pretending great kindness, promised that if he 
would be guided by his advice, he might be soon 
restored to the king's favor. But it afterwards ap- 
peared, that the prelate's design was to inveigle 
him into a confession of his offence, that punish- 
ment might be inflicted on him under a semblance of 
justice. More had, however, the prudence, or the 
good fortune, to escape the snare. Whitford, the 
bishop's chaplain, was his intimate friend, and 
when consulted by More, he advised him by no 
means to follow the counsels of the minister, 
" who," he added, " would be too cunning a Fox 
for him." That this advice was wise, appears from 
a circumstance which occurred some years after. 
When Dudley and Empson were sacrificed to popu- 
lar resentment, under Henry the Eighth, and were 
on their way to execution, the former saw More 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 27 

among the crowd, and thus addressed him: " Oh 
Master More! God was your good friend that you 
did not ask the king's forgiveness, as many would 
have had you do; for if you had done so, perhaps 
you would have been in the like case with us now." 

It is hardly necessary to add, that More did not 
return to the bishop. So apprehensive, indeed, was 
he of the king's resentment, that, not satisfied of the 
security of his retreat, he is stated to have meditated 
a voyage abroad, — an intention which was prevented 
by the death of Henry the Seventh, which took 
place on the 2-2d of April, 1508. 

It has been observed that, in the instance before 
us. More began his professional career with a great- 
er display of integrity than is ever convenient to 
courts and ministers. More's conduct throughout 
life is a proof, that the " conveniency" here spoken 
of, had no weight with him. On more than one 
occasion he evinced, his conviction of the truth — 
" that the service of our country is not a mere chi- 
merical obligation, but a real and solemn duty, and 
that a good man will exert all the means in his 
power to perform it." 

We learn from More's grandson, that his retreat 
was not spent inactively — " he studied the French 
tongue at home, sometimes recreating his wearied 
spirits on the viol." Here he also perfected himself 
in most of the liberal sciences, as music, arithmetic, 
geometry, and astronomy. He moreover grew to 
be a perfect historian; his chief help in all these 
labors, being his happy memory, of which he thus 
modestly speaks; "I would I had as good a wit, 
and as much learning, as I have memory, for that 
rarely faileth me." 

During the leisure which this retirement afforded 
him. More appears to have composed his '•' Life of 
John Picus of Mirandola," and to have translated 
several of his epistles and other works. They are 
found inscribed as a new-year's gift " Unto his en- 
tirely beloved sister in Christ, Joyence Leigh." 
This dedicatory epistle is in More's best manner, 



28 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

a pleasing^ proof of his piety and affection. It will 
have a place in our Selections. He also composed 
about this period, a little volume of epigrams, and 
other poetical pieces, which were much praised in 
their day, and will still be read by the classical 
scholar with pleasure. We have also some poeti- 
cal pieces in Eng-lish from his pen, among which, 
" A Merry Jest, how a Serjeant would learn to play 
the Friar," has been much spoken of, and is sup- 
posed to have suggested to the celebrated Cowper, 
the idea of his popular tale of John Gilpin. (J'^ide 
Selections.) 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 29 



CHAPTER II. 

1508—1517. ^TAT. 36. 

More under-sheriff of London — ambassador to 
flanders — knighted and accepts office. 

Accession of Henry VTII— his youthful character and educa- 
lion— Marriaj^e with Catharine — More quits his retrtat, and 
is appointed under-sheriff of London — Is visited by Erasmus 
and accepts th'' dedication of his " Praise of Folly" — De- 
fends it against Dorpius— Marries— Second time accompanies 
Tunstal on an embassy to Flanders— Acquaintance he forms 
there — Letter to Archbishop Warham — That prelate's cha- 
racter—The King desires to engage More in his service— He 
pleads a cause for the Pope — Is at last persuaded to accept 
office— Is made Master of the Requests — Receives the honor 
of knighthood, and is made a I'rivy Councillor. 

The year 1508 witnessed the accession of Henry 
the Eighth. He was, as is well known, a second 
son. His elder brother, Arthur, at the age of fifteen 
had married the Princess Catharine of Spain, daugh- 
ter of the famous Ferdinand and Isabella. 

The two young princes were brought up by their 
father under a system of wise and strict discipline; 
it being his endeavor to guard them against the 
perilous temptations of a court, and to encourage 
them in all useful studies. Henry was destined, it 
is said, for the church,* and to this end he received 
the benefit of as learned an education as the age 
could bestow — the king contemplating his acces- 
sion to the primacy of England, " in order," says 
Herbert, " to provide for him without charge to the 
crown, and leave a passage open to his ambition. ■[" 

* Men laugh within themselves to see such tricks: 
Babes in the cradle heirs to Bishopricks! 

Stoker's Rise and Fall of Wolsey. 1590. 

t A writer, [Hume] who did not allow his matchless acuteness 

as a metaphysician, to disturb the sense and prudence which are 

more valuable qualities in a historian, has deplored the lime 

3* 



30 SIR TfiOMAS MORE, 

In the fond care, pious counsels, and exemplary 
virtues of his good mother, the Countess of Rich-^ 
mond, Henry also enjoyed a rare advantage, to 
which his future life unfortunately but ill corres-= 
ponded. Erasmus has left us so pleasing a picture 
of the royal schoolroom, that there needs no apolo- 
gy for introducing it. " Thomas More," says he, 
*' who had paid me a visit when I was Lord Mont- 
joy's guest, took me a walk to the next country- 
seat. It was there the king's children were educa- 
ted, with the exception of Arthur, who had then 
attained maturity. On entering the hall, we found 
the whole family assembled; and were surrounded, 
not only by the royal household, but by the ser- 
vants of Montjoy also. In the middle of the circle 
stood Henry, then only nine years old, but even at 
that early age bearing in his countenance an ex- 
pression of royalty, a look of high birth, and at tbe 
same time full of openness and courtesy. On the 
right stood the Princess Margaret, a girl of eleven 
years, afterwards married to James the Foiirth of 
Scotland. On the left was Mary, a child of four 
years, engaged in play; while Edmund, an infant in 
arms, completed the group. More, with Arnold 
our companion, after paying his compliments to lit- 
tle Henry, presented to him some piece of his own 
writing. 1 forget what it was. As for me, I had 
not anticipated such a meeting, and having nothing 
of the kind with me, I could only promise that I 
would shortly show my respect to the prince by 
some similar offering." In some further remarks 
which Erasmus makes on this charming family-pic- 
ture, we find Henry requesting this celebrated scho- 
lar to correspond with him — a trait of character in 
which may be traced a germ of that learned vanity 



wasted bv the royal youth on the writings of St. Thomas of Ac- 
qninas: rightly, if the acquirement of applicable knowledge be 
the sole purpose of education; but not so. certainly, if itl-esis 
on the supposition that any other study could have more 
strengthened and sharpened his reasoning powers.— Sir J. 
Mackintosh.— //is«. of Eng. vol. ii. 97. 



ms LIFE AND TIMETS. 31 

which, at a later period, animated the Defender of 
the Faith, and the antag-onist of Luther. 

Henry's accession was hailed by all with unaf- 
fected joy; for Henry VII, his father, as we 
have already had occasion to remark, had never 
been a popular prince. In this new and dang-erous 
pre-eminence, Henry was at once surrounded by a 
host of those sycophants who are always found 
basking- in the sunshine of a court, and ihe youthful 
monarch was assaulted with adulation sufficient to 
endang-er the strongest virtue.* Till this period, 
however, as we learn from the best authority, Hen- 
ry continued to give hopes of future excellence; 
" he possessed,'^ says Cardinal Pole, " a disposi- 
tion from which every thing- excellent might be 
expected." 

One of the first acts after his accession, was to 
bring before his council, the already agitated ques- 
tion of his marriage with Catharine, to whom he 
continued to express an undiminished attachment. 
The objections that had been raised on the question 
of her having been the wife of his deceased bro- 
ther, yielded to the force of a papal dispensation, 
and to the solemn assertion of Catharine, which 
she was ready to confirm by oath, and by the attes- 
tation of several matrons, that her former nuptials 
with Arthur had never been consummated. The 
marriage accordingly took place with g-reat pomp 
and rejoicings, Catharine being married with the 
ceremonies appropriated to the nuptials of a maid- 
en; she was dressed in white, and wore her hair 
loose. The graces of her person derived additional 
lustre from the amiable qualities of her heart.]" 



* Mr. Sharon Turner, the great panegyrist of Henry, has 
quoted some of the fulsome addresses to the young monarch 
on his accession, and, with more credulity than judgment, 
construes them into proofs of his favorite's powers of mind, 
and excellence of disposition; the more observing reader will 
turn with disgust from their perusal, and feel disposed to won- 
der that the grossness of the flattery did not sooner achieve 
the work of ruin. 

t Doubts have been entertained as to Catharine's personal 



32 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

For several years the king boasted of his happiness 
in possessing- so accomplished and virtuous a con- 
sort, but his situation exposed him to temptations 
v/hich he wanted the grace and the courage to re- 
sist, and he became implicated in several dishonest 
amours. Still he was compelled to admire the meek- 
ness and unpretending virtues of his royal consort, 
and her prudence continued for a long time to act 
as a salutary check upon the violence and brutality 
of his nature. 

Without sacrificing any of those qualities that 
embellish a court, Catharine, amidst all its gaieties, 
practised all the severe virtues of a recluse. Saun- 
ders informs us, that she arose at midnight to 
prayer, and yet at five in the morning left her pil- 
low and dressed for the day. Under her royal 
garments she wore the habit of St. Francis, into 
whose third order she had been admitted. She kept 
the fasts with great rigor, and on the vigils of the 
festivals of the Blessed Virgin took only bread and 
water. She confessed twice a week, heard mass 
every day, and spent some hours in her chapel, re- 
citing the office of our Blessed Lady. During an 
hour or two after dinner, she read the Lives of the 
Saints, while her maids of honor were standing 
round her. Before the hour of supper, she spent 
part of another hour in the chapel, and partook very 
sparingly at that meal. She studied personal mor- 
tification, for, during all her protracted prayers, she 
knelt on tlie stone pavement without a cushion. 



attractions. Hall expressly says, "in person beautiful," and 
More has thus described her: 

Ignea vis oculis, Venus insidet ore, genisque 
hst color, in geminis qui solet esse rrtsis — 
Immo etiam vultu virtus pellucet ab ipso: 
Est facies animi nuiicia aperta boni. 

On that fair brow has Venus fix'd her throne, 
Those eyes dart forth a lustre all their own, 
Thy cheeks, twin roses blushiug on one stem: 
But, oh! thy virtue is a priceless gem, 
Which shines reflected with a double grace, 
In the pure faithful mirror of thy face. w. 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 33 

Nor was Catharine more distinguished by her 
piety, than by her love of literature. " The queen," 
says Erasmus, " is a friend to letters, which she 
happily learned from her infancy." He describes 
her to the Duke of Saxony, as " elegantly learned," 
and adds; " I so love the piety and erudition of this 
illustrious woman, which are a reproach to our 
sloth and corruption of manners, that I seem to re- 
ceive a benefit to myself, if I can do any thing plea- 
sing to her. How rare is it to see a woman, born 
and brought up amidst the delights of a court, 
which corrupt even the best minds, repose all her 
delight in prayer, and in reading the divine volume." 

More, now in his thirty-fifth year, reappeared in 
the general reanimation at the commencement of a 
reign, which he was destined to illustrate by his 
greatness and his misfortunes. 

He appeared as the inaugural poet of the new 
epoch, and exercised his classical pen in a Latin 
poem on the coronation, which was celebrated with 
all the pomp and circumstance of which that age was 
so fond. He draws a contrast by no means favor- 
able to the late monarch, of whose avarice and in- 
justice he had so recently been the victim. The 
dedication concludes with a neatly turned compli- 
ment to Henry, at the expense, however, of his fa- 
ther; Vale, pi'inceps illustrissime, et — qui novus ac 
varus re gum titulus est, amatissime, (most illustrious, 
and — what is a new and rare title for a king, most 
beloved prince. Farewell.) 

1510. — It was known that, shortly after Henry's 
succession. More filled the situation of under-sheriff 
of London, but his biographers were at variance as 
to the precise year. By a reference to the city 
records. Sir James Mackintosh has ascertained 
that the date of his first appointment to this office 
was March 3, 1510. "It is apparent," says Sir 
James, " that either as a considerable source of his 
income, or as an honorable token of public confidence, 
this office was valued by More; since, in 1516, he 
informs Erasmus that he had declined a' handsome 



34 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

pension offered to him by the King, and that he 
believed he should always decline it; because, either 
it would oblig-e him, to resign his office in the city, 
which he preferred to a better, or if he retained it, in 
case of a controversy of the city with the King for 
their privileges, he might be deemed by his fellow 
citizens, to be disabled by dependence on the crown 
from sincerely and faithfully maintaining their 
rights. 

Erasmus tells us, that this office though not labo- 
rious, for the court sits only on the forenoon of every 
Thursday, is accounted very honorable. No one who 
ever filled this situation, went through more causes 
than More; no one decided them more uprightly; often 
remitting the fees to which he was entitled from the 
suitors. His deportment in this capacity, endeared 
him extremely to his fellow citizens. Nor in the dis- 
charge of this office, were opportunities wanting for 
the exercise of his characteristic humor. His wife had 
been presented with a small dog, which at once 
became a favorite, and was kept with great care. 
It turned out, however, to be the property of a beg- 
gar who had lost it, and who came to More to com- 
plain that his property was forcibly withheld from 
him. More sent for his lady and the dog, and 
stationing her at the upper end of the hall, as the 
worthier person, and the beggar at the lower end, he 
said he sat there to deal justice impartially to all; 
and he desired each of them to call the dog. The 
little favorite immediataly forsook his new mistress, 
and ran to the beggar: so that Lady More was 
compelled to indulge her partiality by purchasings 
the animal. 

The fame of an accomplished scholar, whose name 
we have before had occasion to mention — Erasmus^ 
had now begun to spread. More had long been 
sensible to his meri!;s, though not inattentive to- 
some of the weak parts of his character, which now 
began to display themselves. The acquaintance 
they had formed at Oxford, cherished by the similar- 
tiy of their studies, had ripened into a strong attach- 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 35 

iTsent, and we find them maintaining a correspon- 
dence. 

This year he wrote to More expressing- a desire 
to revisit Eng-land. To facilitate his journey, More 
sent him a bill of exchange, for a sum of which one- 
half was advanced by himself, and the other by 
Archbishop Warham. On arriving in London, he 
took up his residence for a time with More, and un- 
der his hospitable roof produced, it is said in the 
course of a single week, his well-known Murisc 
Encomium (Praise of Folly). This, however, is 
evidently an exaggeration; nearly two years before 
he had written to More relative to the work, which 
he states in his preface to have been composed on 
horseback to beguile the tedious hours of his journey 
from Italy. The fact, therefore, which has so much 
puzzled the biographers both of More and Erasmus, 
appears to be, that Erasmus brought with him the 
rough sketch of his work, to which he gave the 
finishing hand on the present occasion. 

The late lamented Mr. Charles Butler thus char- 
acterises this work. " It is an ingenious satire on 
the follies of persons in every condition of life. It 
would be difficult to mention a work which discovers 
more discernment or wit. Its success was prodi- 
gious; popes, kings, cardinals, bishops, princes, ba- 
rons, all the great and all the gay read and admired 
it. Leo the X. on perusing it, observed: " Erasmus 
too has his place in the region of folly." The 
most honorable testimony in its favor was that of 
the illustrious person, to whom it was dedicated. 
Martin Dorpius, a Louvaine divine, published some 
remarks upon it, in which he blamed its general 
spirit, and some particular passages and expressions. 
Erasmus answered it by an apologetical reply, 
which is a perfect model of polemic politeness. 
He acknowledges that his work had exposed him 
to censure; he almost laments that it was written, 
and solemnly declares, that, if he had foreseen the 
troubles, by which the church was, at no distant 
period, to be afflicted, he would not have composed a 



36 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

work so g-ay, on subjects which unexpectedly proved 
so serious. More came to the aid of his friend. In 
an elegant and conciliating- letter addressed to Dor- 
pius, he justified the intention of Erasmus in com- 
posing the work; defended many passages and 
expressions to which Dorpius had objected, and 
extenuated the apparent culpability of others. Dor- 
pius was appeased: the friendship between him 
and Erasmus was renewed, and when his old anta- 
gonist died, Erasmus celebrated his memory in an 
elegant and affectionate epitaph." It is somewhat 
remarkable that, at a later period. More, as we shall 
have occasion to see, felt himself called upon to 
employ the same kind of apology in defence of his 
Utopia, that had been used by his friend in defence 
of his Praise of Folly. 

More accepted the dedication of the work, regard- 
ing it as a mere playful sally of that wit, which was 
congenial to his nature, and little imagining that the 
work was of a character to promote, even distantly, 
any views hostile to the faith which he loved and 
the precepts which he practised; and later, we shall 
hear him deprecating an appeal to his writings and 
those of his friend, which, he says, were innocently 
intended by them, but abused by incendiaries to 
inflame the fury of the ignorant multitude. 

Modern critics, however, have spoken unfavora- 
bly of this satire. " Nothing," observes Le Clerc, 
" can excuse Erasmus for having put into the 
mouth of Folly things which confound religious 
truth with idiotism, and honest men with knaves 
and madmen. No one can be a greater fool than 
he who sets up for fool-doctor in ordinary." " Af- 
ter the publication of this work," says Knight, 
" Erasmus was never after looked upon as a true 
friend of the church. In his Adages, he has made 
an apology to the public for the scandal given them 
in this satire." 

Another of this scholar's valuable friends and 
patrons was Lord Mountjoy. Erasmus had com- 
posed two declamations on matrimony, one in its 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 37 

praise, the other against it. His patron Lord 
Mountjoy, said to him; " I like the first of your 
treatises so well, that I am determined to marry 
without loss of time." — " But (said Erasmus) you 
have not read the second." " No (replied his lord- 
ship), I am content to leave that to you." 

But while More found leisure for these literary 
prolusions, he continued to pursue his legal stu- 
dies with unremittinoc ardor, and rose to great emi- 
nence at the bar. His conduct was such as to en- 
title him to be held up as a model of scrupulous 
adherence to justice, amidst all the temptations of 
legal sophistry, and the more solid inducements of 
interest, and of that bribery, which, disguised un- 
der a more decent name, was so prevalent in those 
days. When any cause was offered to him, his 
first care was to ascertain whether justice was on 
the side on which he was retained. If he found it 
otherwise, he rejected the cause, whatever pecuniary 
inducement might be held out to him, and whatever 
opportunity it might afford for the display of his 
talents; assuring his client that he would notunder- 
take v/hat he knew to be wrong, for all the wealth 
in the world. With gratuitous kindness, he advo- 
cated the cause of the widow and orphan; while, re- 
gardless of interest, he always endeavored, if pos- 
sible, to bring contending parties to a private accom- 
modation. 

1512. More's first wife, as we have already stated, 
survived their union onl}?^ about six years; and two 
years after her death, which brings us to our pre- 
sent period, he married Alice Middleton, a widow 
with one daughter. She was seven years older than 
himself, and neither handsome nor young — nee hella 
nee puella^ as he says in a Latin jingle to his friend 
Erasmus. His object in making this choice, and 
the curious manner in which it was brought about, 
are thus stated by his great grandson. "He entered 
into this second wedlock, that his wife might have 
care of his children, who were very young, and 
from whom he must of necessity be very often ab- 
4 



38 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

sent. She was of good years, of no great favor nor 
complexion, nor very rich; by disposition very near 
and worldly. T have heard it reported, that he 
wooed her for a friend of his, not once thinking to 
have her himself. But she wisely answering him, 
that ' he might speed, if he would speak in his own 
behalf,' he told his friend what she had said to him, 
and with his good liking married her, doing that 
which otherwise he would, perhaps, have never 
thought to do. And indeed, as I think, her favor 
would not have bewitched, or scarce even moved 
any man to love her. But yet she proved a kind 
and careful mother-in-law to his children, as he 
was always a most loving father unto them; and 
not only to his own, but to her daughter also; who 
afterwards married Mr. Alington, and was mother to 
Sir Giles Alington. He also brought up together 
with his own children, and as one of them, Margaret 
Giggs, afterwards wife to Dr. Clement, a famous 
physician. She also proved very famous for her 
many excellent endowments in learning, virtue, and 
wisdom." Speaking of this marriage, Erasmus 
says; " The woman More has married, is a keen and 
watchful manager, and he lives with her on terms 
of as much respect and kindness, as if she had been 
young and fair." Such is the happy power of a 
loving disposition, which overflows on all within 
the range of its influence, be their deserts or attrac- 
tions ever so slender. "No husband," continues 
Erasmus, " ever obtained so much obedience from a 
wife by authority and severe measures, as More 
Vv^on by gentleness and pleasantry. Though now of a 
certain age, and by no means of a yielding temper, 
he prevailed on her to take lessons on the lute and 
viol, which she daily practised over to him." Roper 
adds, in the simplicity of his heart, "• that his father- 
in-law induced her to learn music, both of the voice 
and viol, in order to draw off her mind from worldly 
things, to which she was too much addicted." In 
all probability, it was with a view to engage her to 
seek an agreeable distraction from that fretful anx- 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 39 

iety about her domestic concerns, which was her 
ruling- foible, and which would have proved a sad 
annoyance to a husband not possessed of More's 
philosophy. The truth is — though, forsooth, the 
truth should not at all times be spoken, that Alice 
was unfortunately a scold. "The greatest fault she 
had," says, her nephew Rastell "was that she would 
now and then show herself to be her mother's 
daughter, kit after kind: it is but their nature, you 
know, to be a little talkative." Indeed, in her gene- 
ral conduct she showed herself altogether incapable 
of entering into the magnanimity of her husband's 
character. It is amusing to observe how adroitly 
More could parry off her reproaches, arresting 
the outbreaks of her ill temper by a joke, and 
smoothing; down the roughness of her manner by a 
pun — for More was an inveterate punster; to that 
sin he must plead guilty, and he may well be 
pardoned, for it was his only one. The good 
dame was not however, altogether unaware of her 
failing, and would sometimes make an effort to 
overcome herself. " Why so merry, Alice^' in- 
qnired the knight, on meeting her one day in a more 
than usually happy mood. " One may surely be 
merry," said his wife, " for I have been to shrift, 
and left my old shrewdness behind me in the con- 
fessional." — "Ah!" rejoined the knight shaking 
his head doubtingly, " but I fear it is only to open a 
new score." 

1513. More's application to his legal duties was 
unremitting, and yet such was his activity of mind, 
that he found leisure at this period, for historical 
composition, the fruit of which was afterwards given 
to the world in his History of King Richard the III. 
More's grandson speaks warmly in praise of this 
work: " It is so well penned, that if our chronicles 
of England were half so well set out, they would 
entice all Englishmen often to read them over." 
This elogium is confirmed by the fact, that the 
work has been four times reprinted within the last 
century. For a more detailed account, the reader is 
referred to the Volume of Selections. 



40 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

1515. The public life of More may be said to 
have commenced in the summer of this year, with 
a mission to Bruges, in which Tunstall, then Mas- 
ter of the Rolls, and afterwards bishop of Durham, 
was his colleague. The biographers of More have 
assigned 1516 as the year of this embassy, but here 
again a reference to the city records has enabled 
Sir James M'lntosh to ascertain the precise date. 
The following is the entry: "' Monday 8th of May, 
1515. It is agreed that Thomas More gent, one of 
the under sheriffs of London, who shall go over as 
the King's ambassador into Flanders, shall employ 
his room and office by his sufficient deputy, until 
his coming home again.'* The object of this mis- 
sion was to adjust certain questions relating to the 
commercial intercourse of England with the Ne- 
therlands. 

We have now, for the first time, to mention 
the name of More in conjunction Math that of 
one of the most remarkable men of this period. 
Wolsey, then lately invested with the purple, filled 
the first place in the royal favor. Nothing was 
done at court but by his advice and through his 
mediation. The reputation of More had already 
attracted Henry's attention, and he signified to the 
cardinal his desire to see that remarkable man at- 
tached to the court. On this occasion, at least, we 
find that the minister acted honestly, and endeavored 
to accomplish the wishes of his master. He paid 
a visit to More, represented to him the importance 
of his services, and assured him that the royal 
bounty would recompense them liberally. More was 
not, however, to be prevailed upon, for the present 
at least, to exchange the independent station which 
his ability as a lawyer gave him, for the more 
precarious life of a courtier; and the excuses he 
made were, for this time, admitted. " No man ever 
strove harder, says Erasmus, to gain admittance at 
court, than More endeavored to keep out of it." As 
a preliminary step to further concessions, he was, 
however, prevailed upon by Wolsey to accept the 
mission in question. The affair appears to have 



HIS LIFE AND TIME!?. 41 

been protracted longer than was quite agreeable to 
More, though it produced him, on his return, the 
offer of a pension. To this offer, the king's desire 
to retain More in his service doubtless materially 
contributed. In a letter written to Erasmus, shortly 
after his return, we have a very agreeable account 
of this expedition. " Our embassy," he writes, 
" for in this, as well as in every thing else that con- 
cerns me, you are kind enough to interest yourself, 
has proceeded favorably enough, save that the affair 
was protracted beyond the time I had looked for. 
On my leaving home, I had expected an absence 
of hardly two months, v/hereas above six have been 
consumed in the business. Yet, a result by no 
means disagreeable arose from this long delay. But 
seeing the affair on which I went, concluded, and 
observing that other matters, arising one out of the 
other, appeared the initials of still greater delay — a 
circumstance never wanting in diplomatic affairs, 
1 wrote to the cardinal for leave to return, and used, 
among other friends, the kind offices of Pace [the 
cardinal's secretary.] On my way home, I met 
him unexpectedly at Gravelines, and in such a 
hurry that he could hardly stop to greet me. 

" This office of ambassador never pleased me. 
Indeed, it is not likely to suit us laymen, however it 
may you ecclesiastics, who have no wives and chil- 
dren to leave at home behind you. We, when we 
have been ever so little a time absent, long to 
be home again on their account. When an eccle- 
siastic sets out, he and all belonging to him are 
maintained abroad at the expense of kings, so that 
he has no establishment to keep up at home. But 
such is not the case with me; when absent, I have 
a double family to support, one at home and one 
abroad. The provision made by the king for those 
I took with me was liberal enough; but no account 
was taken of those I had to leave at home; and yet, 
you well know, I was not the man to allow of any 
stint during my absence: as a husband, a father, and 
a master, I hope I know my duty better. Lastly, 
4* 



42 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

princes have ways of requiting such as you, without 
any cost to themselves; but, with regard to us, it 
is quite another matter; there is no such cheap 
way of compensating our services. True itis, how- 
ever, that, on my return, a pension would have been 
settled on me by the king — an offer in point of honor 
and profit, not to be slighted — but I have hitherto 
declined it, and think I shall continue so to do. The 
fact is, that if I accept it, my present situation in 
the city, which I prefer to a higher one, must either 
be relinquished, or, which I should be ver}'' much 
against, be held not without some dissatisfaction to 
our citizens. Thus it is: should any question arise 
between them and their prince, as to privileges, as 
is sometimes the case, they could not help looking 
upon me as less true to their cause, if indebted to 
the king for my pension. As for the rest, there 
vv'ere some things occurred on this embassy, which 
afforded me particular pleasure. In the first place, 
my long and constant intercourse with Tunstall, 
than whom no man is better versed in every elegant 
acquirement, no man more correct in his conduct, 
or agreeable in his conversation. And then 1 formed 
an acquaintance with Busleiden, whose handsome 
means enabled him to treat me not only courteous- 
ly, but magnificently. The elegance of his house, 
his admirable domestic arrangements, the monu- 
ments of antiquity which he possesses, (and in 
which, you know, I take particular delight,) and 
lastly, his exquisite library, and that fund of learn- 
ing and eloquence which he possesses in himself, 
completely astonished me. Nor in the whole of 
my peregrinations, was any tiling more agreeable 
to me, than the company of your good and valuable 
friend ^Egidius, of Antwerp; a man so truly learned, 
modest, good-humored, and friendly withal, that may 
I be hanged if I vi^ould not freely give half I am 
worth in the world to have the good fortune con- 
stantly to enjoy his society." The former of the 
persons here so warmly spoken of, was Jerome 
Busleiden, an ecclesiastic of the Low Countries, 



HIS LIFE AND TIAIES. 43 

who died soon after the period in question, and be- 
queathed his property to the University of Louvain, 
in order to establish professorships of the Latin, 
Greek, and Hebrew languages; the latter is the per- 
son to whom More dedicated his celebrated Utopia, 
which was written at this period, during the leisure 
hours of his diplomatic avocations; for his mind 
was too expansive to be confined to the dull routine 
of professional duty. This v/ork, the most popular 
of all More's productions, evinces great playfulness 
of fancy, joined to an originality of thinkmg, which 
was in advance of his age. It will demand a more 
detailed account in another place. (See Volume of 
Selections. ) 

That able minister and exemplary ecclesiastic, 
the good Warham, Archbishop of Canterbury, had 
often solicited permission to retire from the chan- 
cery, in order to be able to devote his whole atten- 
tion to the exercise of his episcopal functions. At 
length the king accepted his resignation, and ten- 
dered the seals to VVolsey. Stapleton has preserved 
a letter written to the prelate by More, on this oc- 
casion, and accompanied by a copy of the Utopia, 
which had just made its appearance. The letter is 
more particularly interesting as anticipating senti- 
ments which were afterwards to be More's own, 
under the circumstances of a similar resignation. A 
translation of this letter, which is in Latin, is here 
offered to the reader: 

Most Reverend Father: — I have ever reckoned 
yours a happy lot — happy, while you discharged 
with so much honor to yourself and advantage to 
the nation, the office of chancellor; happier still 
when, having now resigned that office, you have 
sought repose, as a sanctuary in which you may live 
to God and to yourself— a repose, not only more 
agreeable than the employment you filled, but more 
dignified than all the honorsyou enjoyed: for many, 
and sometimes the worst of men, may be in office. 
You filled the highest in the state, one investing 
with ample authority him who executes, and ren- 



a SIR THOMAS MORE, 

dering- obnoxious to abundant calumny him who re- 
signs it. To lay it down then, as you did, of your 
own accord — the permission for which cost you 
much trouble, none but a modest man would have 
wished, none but an innocent one have dared. There 
are not wanting men to appreciate your conduct, 
and to admire it as it deserves; and, at a moment 
like the present, ] hope not to be found the last 
among the admirers of the step you have had the 
courage to take. Indeed, I know not which to ap- 
plaud the most, your modesty in voluntarily re- 
linquishing so high and splendid an office, your 
magnanimity in despising dignities which others 
so dearly prize, or the innocency of your adminis- 
tration in remaining fearless of consequences. Your 
conduct was certainly wise and praiseworthy; nor 
have I words to express the feeling with which I 
would congratulate the rare felicity that is yours, or 
to tell you, most Reverend Father, how sincerely I 
rejoice to see you aloof from secular employment 
and forensic tumult, enjoying the honorable glory 
and well-earned fame of an office nobly adminis- 
tered by you, and still more nobly resigned; and, 
conscious of a life well-spent, calmly devoting the 
evening of your days to letters and philosophy. I 
arn led to reflect daily more and more upon the hap- 
piness of your lot, as contrasted with the misery of 
mine. For, though I have no occupations worth 
the naming, yet as trifles become things of magni- 
tude to the little, 1 am so busy, that I have no lei- 
sure to pay my respects to you in person, and 
scarcely time to apologise by letter for my omis- 
sion. Thus I have barely time to write you this, 
for the purpose of recommending to your indulgence 
the enclosed ill-digested little work, which a too 
partial friend of mine in Antwerp, hasty and un- 
polished as the performance is, thought worthy of 
the press, and printed without my knowledge. 
Though fully aware how unworthy it is of your 
dignity, learning, and experience, yet, knowing 
your candor and indulgence to every endeavor of 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 45 

mine, which I have so often experienced, I have 
summoned up courage enough to send it to you: and 
should the writing be deemed of little worth, the 
writer is solicitous to find favor. 

Most worthy prelate, fare yon well. 

As we are upon the suhject of the good Warham, 
it should not be forgotten that Erasmus has paid a 
just and most eloquent tribute to his memory. He 
died in 1533, as a bishop should die— poor, though 
he had filled two of the highest and most wealthy 
dignities in the church and state. At his death he 
left no more than was sufficient to defray his debts 
and the expenses of his funeral. When near his 
end, he told his steward to bestow a certain sum in 
charity. " My lord," said the steward, "there is 
but thirty pounds left us in the world." 

" Well, well," hecheerfully replied; ^'' satis viati- 
ci ad ccelum — that is enough to last me out to hea- 
ven." A short time before his death, says Wood, 
he announced to those around him, in something 
like a prophetic spirit, that he should have for his 
successor, a Thomas [Cranmer], who would as 
much by his vicious living and wicked heresies, 
dishonor, waste and destroy the see of Canterbury, 
and the whole Church of England, as the former 
bishop and martyr of that name did before benefit, 
bless, adorn, and honor the same." 

When Wolsey, in his journey to France, com- 
manded the superior clergy who attended him to 
appear only in silk, a rare article of luxury at that 
period, Warham alone had the spirit to disobey; he 
would use so rich an ornament only in the vest- 
ments employed in the church service. We learn 
this from Erasmus. 

1516. — The able manner in which our negotiator 
had managed the business entrusted to him, and 
which, as we learn from his own words, was an 
affair of no small importance, would not tend to di- 
minish the anxiety of the king to engage him in a 
closer attendance upon his person. Henry loved 
wit and learning, and therefore could not be indif- 



46 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

ferent to the accomplishments of a man whose ta- 
lents he had a'ready put to the test. But he found 
it almost as difficult to win him over to his service 
now, as he afterwards did to bind him to his will 
in a matter of conscience. Indeed, there is no trait 
in the character of this extraordinary man more de- 
cidedly marked, than a degree of independence 
amounting to little less than obstinacy. Original 
in his views and habits, he disliked all influence 
and restraint, and mingled with the great without 
imbibing in the smallest degree the spirit of a cour- 
tier. These feelings are embodied in his Utopia, 
many passages of which might be adduced as in- 
tended in a pleasant, but not very courtier-like way, 
to insinuate his opinion of the service to which he 
was solicited to devote himself. The hero of the 
piece is made to say: " Now, I live after my own 
mind and pleasure, which I think very few of these 
great statesmen and peers of the realm can say . . 
In losing my ovi^n quiet, I should in no way further 
the common good: for, in the first place, mostprinces 
have mure delight in warlike mailers^ and feats of 
chivalry^ {the knowleds:;e of which I neither possess^ 
nor desire to possess,) than in the good arts of peace: 
and employ more pains about enlarging their domin- 
ions, whether by good or evil means, than about 
ruling well and peaceably those they already pos- 
sess. . . Should I boldly rise up in the council, and 
declare that the community oiightto choose their king 
for their own sake, and not for his, to the intent 
that, through bis labor and study, they might all 
live w^ealthy and happy, safe from wrong and in- 
jury: that, therefore, the king should take more care 
for the well-being of his people, than for his own; 
even as the duty and office of a shepherd is, in his 
very quality of shepherd, to feed his sheep rather 
than himself: — 1 say, were I to declare all this, 
should I not, think ye, have deaf hearers]"* Con- 
sidering the bold views, religious and political, 

* Utopia, Ralph Robinson's translation. (1590) 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 47 

promulgated in this work, whether regarding them 
as Morels own opinions, or as merely assumed by 
way of coloring- to his romance, Henry must be al- 
lowed to have shown some liberality and fearless- 
ness, in his increased desire to retain him in his 
counsels, and draw him nearer to his person. Happi- 
ly for the king, but unfortunately for More, an inci- 
dent occurred which forced him into the distinction 
he had so studiously avoided. A valuable ship 
belonging to the Pope, coming into Southampton, 
had been seized as a prize by the English cruisers. 
The legate appealed to the king, that His Holiness 
might have counsel assigned him, learned in the 
laws of the land, to defend his cause; and, as His 
Majesty was himself a great civilian, it was re- 
quested that the cause might be tried publicly, and 
in his presence. More had the honor of being cho- 
sen as the ablest lawyer of his time, to be counsel 
for the Pope, and to report proceedings in Latin to 
the legate. A hearing of the cause was appointed 
before Wolsey, as liord Chancellor, and the judges 
in the star-chamber. Our advocate pleaded the 
cause with so much learning and success, that not 
only was the vessel restored to the Pope, but, to 
use the words of Roper, "himself, for his upright 
and commendable demeanor in the cause, was so 
greatly applauded by all the hearers, that, for no 
entreaty, would the king from henceforth be in- 
duced any longer to forbear his service." 

1517. — There being at this time no better place 
vacant, Henry created More Master of the Re- 
quests, and a month after conferred on him the 
honor of knighthood, and m^ade him a privy-coun- 
cillor. Weston, treasurer of the exchequer, dying 
some time afterwards, the king, without any solici- 
tation, gave that place also to the man whose good 
will he was so anxious to conciliate. We are now, 
therefore, to behold Sir Thomas More in a very 
different situation from that in which we have here- 
tofore viewed him. 

We find him taken from his practice as a lawyer, 



48 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

and from the condition of a private gentleman, to 
become an officer of state, and to be recognised as a 
favorite of the king — taken it may be truly said, 
for he certainly acted in the present instance, rather 
in obedience to the king than to gratify any passion 
of his own for power and grandeur. His simplicity 
of heart would naturally incline him to disrelish the 
courts of princes and their intrigues, and it is pos- 
sible that he may have already surmised from Hen- 
ry's character, the probable inconstancy of his favor. 
Under every advancement we shall find that he still 
preserved the plainness and integrity which distin- 
guished him in private life. A superior station 
served but to call forth superior talents; and in the 
end it displayed his superiority of character under 
the severest of human trials. 

But, previously to accompanying him to the new 
scene of his glory and of his trials, we may be per- 
mitted to cast " one lingering look behind" upon the 
busy school-room, and the other domestic economies 
of his residence in Chelsea: for they still look fresh 
in the descriptions left us by his contemporaries. 

We have no hesitation jn considering the five or 
six years that -have just elapsed as the happiest 
period of More's life. While rising rapidly in his 
profession and filling an honorable and lucrative 
situation, he still found leisure for his literary pur- 
suits, and produced works on which, independently 
of their value in a moral point of view, has been con- 
ferred the distinctive honor, of having advanced and 
polished his mother tongue. The warmth of his 
affections, the kindness of his heart, and the play- 
fulness of his manner, continued to ensure the 
happiness of his home, even when his son with a 
■wife, three daughters with their husbands, and a 
proportionable number of grandchildren, dwelt under 
his patriarchal roof. 

It appears that, somewhere about this period, Sir 
Thomas was sent to investigate the cause of a 
great local inconvenience, the growth of the Good- 
win Sands on the coast of Kent and the conse- 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 49 

quent stoppage of Sandwich Haven. An amusing 
anecdote connected with this visit shall be given 
in the quaint but graphic language of old Latimer. 
" Master More was once sent in commission into 
Kent, to help to pry out, if it might be, what was 
the cause of the Goodwin Sands, and the shelves that 
stopped up Sandwich Haven. Thither cometh Mas- 
ter More, and calleth the county about him, such 
as were thought to be men of experience, and men 
that could of likelihood best certify him of that mat- 
ter, concerning the stopping of Sandwich Haven. 
Among others, came in before him, an old man with 
a white head, and one that was thought to be little 
less than an hundred years old. When Master 
More saw this aged man, he thought it expedient 
to hear him say bis mind in this matter; for, being 
so old a man, it was likely that he knew most of 
any man, in that presence and company. So Mas- 
ter More called this aged man unto him, and said: 
' Father' quoth he, ' tell me, if ye can, what is the 
cause of this great arising here of the sands and 
shelves about this haven, the which stop it up, that 
no ships can arrive here"? Ye are the oldest man 
that 1 can espy in all this company; so that if any 
man can tell the cause of it, ye of likelihood can say 
most of it; or at leastwise more than any man here 
assembled.' — ' Yes, forsooth, good master,' quoth 
this old man, ' for I am well nigh an hundred years 
old, and no man here in this company is any thing 
near unto my age. I have marked this matter as 
well as some others.' — ' Well, then,' quoth Master 
More, 'how say you of thisT' — 'Forsooth, Sir,' 
quoth he, ' I am an old man; the oldest in all the 
company, and I wot how this haven waxed naught. 
For I knew it good; I knew it when it was a fair 
fish-pool.' ' Well, then, tell me,' continued Mas- 
ter More, ' what hath so hurt it, my good father]' 
— ' Well,' said he, ' I remember the time right well, 
when great ships passed up yonder without difficul- 
ty, and now, marry ! right small vessels have much 
work to come up at diverse tides.' — ' Well,' still 
5 



50 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

continued Master More, 'and what is the reason, 
father, that the haven is so sore decayed!' Then 
some of the other old men present laid the fault to 
the Goodwin Sands. 'And what, said the old 
father, starting- up, 'what was the cause of the 
Goodwin Sands'? I am an old man, and I can tell 
you. Tenterden Steeple is the cause of the Good- 
win Sands.' ' How so, father?' cried Master More, 
and all present. ' Nay, by'r Lady, masters,' quoth, 
he, ' I cannot well tell you why. Bat I remember 
when there was no steeple at all there; and before 
the steeple was built, there was no manner of speak- 
ing- of any flats or sands that stopped up the haven; 
and I knew it a good haven till that steeple was 
built; and therefore Tenterden Steeple is the cause 
of the Goodwin sands, and of the decaying of Sand- 
wich Haven.' " 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 51 



CHAPTER III. 

1512—1517. ^TAT. 36. 

MORE IN THE BOSOM OF HIS FAMILY. 

SJore's residence at Chelsea— The improvement made by him 
there— Domestic economy of liis esiablisiiment— His chari- 
ties — His devotional exercises — The education of his children 
—Letters to his daughters— His son John— Hisdauahter Mar- 
garet— His correspondence abroad— Holbein's painting of 
More and his family — His family fool. 

After surveying' men in their public stations, it 
is pleasing to contemplate them in the more private 
relations of life; to follow them to their closets, and 
into the bosom of their families; and to discover 
how those who influence the destinies of their fel- 
low men, conduct themselves amidst the cares and 
duties which are common to the humble and to the 
exalted. Several pictures are left us of More in 
the midst of his household, and never was there a 
man who appeared there to greater advantage. 

We have seen that More's professional practice, 
together with the legal appointment which he held 
in the city of London, produced him an income 
equivalent, according to Sir James Mackintosh, to 
about 5,000/. in the present day. This enabled him 
to purchase a mansion and grounds at Chelsea, in 
a pleasant situation, near the borders of the Thames, 
and at a convenient distance from the scene of his 
daily duties; " three small miles from London," as 
William Rastell, his nephew, and editor of his 
works, is careful to inform his readers. 

Erasmus, who often shared the hospitality of this 
mansion, describes it as *' neither mean, nor calcu- 
lated to raise envy, and yet magnificent enough."* 

* The old mansion stood at the north end of Beaufort Row, 



52 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

In some things, he kept up a degree of style; thus 
we learn incidentally, that when he resigned the 
chancellorship, he gave to his successor, my Lord 
Audley, " his barge and eight watermen." 

His hospitable door stood open to all. To him 
might have been applied what was said of another 
great and good man — " methinks I see you sitting at 
your gate, like one of the good patriarchs of old, 
inviting all the weary and the way-faring to come 
in and be refreshed." He added to the conve- 
niences of his house by building at the end of 
his garden, a chapel, a library, and a gallery, 
known at the time as the New-building, where 
he passed in study and devotion whatever time he 
could steal from his public and private duties, and 
" where he would as much as possible, sequester 
himself from the world, and shake off the dust of 
earthy business, which so easily dejfiles the soul." 

He also built a chapel, or chancel, in Chelsea 
Church,* and furnished it with a handsome service 
of altar plate, observing in that half-jocose, half- 
prophetic manner of his — " Good men give these 
things, and bad men take them away." He also 
provided a house at no great distance from his own, 
for the reception of the aged and decayed persons of 
his parish, to whose maintenance he consecrated a 
portion of his income, delegating to his favorite 
daughter, Margaret, the office of seeing their com- 
forts attended to. 

"There was nothing in the world," says Ras- 
tell, " that pleased and comforted him so much as 
when he could do some good deed or other to his 

extending westward, at the distance of about one hundred 
yards from the water side. Dr. King, Rector of Chelsea, writ- 
ing in the year 1717, says, that no less than four houses 
have contended for the honor of j^ir Thomas's residence. 

* It is the south chancel in which still remains in a perfect 
state, the monumental inscription which he composed for 
him.self, and in the east window were his arms, in painted 
glass. These unfortunately disappeared some seventy or 
eighty years ago, when the church was repaired. The taste 
of a ftiilner, or a Britain was wanting to ensure their preser- 
vation. 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 53 

neig-hbor, either by relieving him by his counsel, 
his good word, or by his money. Never was there 
any man that sought relief and help at his hands, 
that went not away cheerful and satisfied; and his 
great delight was to pacify those that were in de- 
bate, and to reconcile those at variance." He would 
ramble about the obscure lanes and bye-places, giv- 
ing an alms liberally according to the person's ne- 
cessity. " If a man," he would say, " knew for a 
certainty that he was to be banished into a strange 
country, never to return to his own again, and yet 
were to refuse to have his goods transported thither, 
fearful of wanting them for the few days he had to 
stay, should we not account him a madman] And 
yet equally are they out of their wits, who hold on 
to their purse, and refuse an alms for fear of want- 
ing during their short sojournment here. Send your 
goods on before you to heaven, where you shall 
shortly be, and shall enjoy them with interest." 
He would also frequently invite his poor neighbors 
to his table, and there would be merry and pleasant 
with them. 

More's house was the constant resort of the most 
accomplished men of his time. His friendships 
were many and faithful. " By no one," says Eras- 
mus, "are friendships more readily formed, more 
diligently cultivated, more steadfastly retained. If 
he discovers any one with whom he has formed an 
intimacy, to be irreclaimably vicious, he gradually 
discontinues the intimacy; but never breaks it off 
in an abrupt or mortifying manner. An utter enemy 
to all gaming, and to all those unmeaning amuse- 
ments by which the idlers of society endeavor to 
escape from the insupportable languor of exist- 
ence, his leisure hours are spent in the conversa- 
tion of a circle, throughout which his own polite- 
ness, ease, and vivacity, diffuse universal good- 
humor and gaiety. To sum up his character in one 
word — if the pattern of a perfect friend be required, 
let it be sought in More." 

The domestic virtues and the family circle of his 
5* 



54 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

illustrious friend, are subjects on which Erasmus 
evidently dwells with delight; it calls forth from 
his pen that eloquence which flows warm and spon- 
taneous from the heart. " With what gentleness," 
he exclaims, " does my friend regulate all his house- 
hold, where misunderstandings and quarrels are 
altogether unknown. Corporal chastisement of his 
servants was never resorted to under his roof, nor 
did he use to them words of contumely or reproach. 
If there was occasion for chiding them, it was in 
so mild and conciliatory a manner, that his very 
chiding made him the more beloved. 

" Indeed, More is looked up to as a general compo- 
ser of differences, and was never known to part with 
any one on terms of unkindness. His house is de- 
stined to enjoy the peculiar felicity, that all who 
dwell under its roof, go forth into the world bet- 
tered in their morals, as well as improved in their 
condition: no spot was ever known to fall on the 
good name of its happy inhabitants. Here you 
might imagine yourself in the academy of Plato. 
But I should do injustice to his house by comparing 
it to the school of that philosopher, where nothing 
but abstract questions and sometimes moral virtues 
were the subjects of discussion: it would be more 
just to call it a school of religion, and a palestra for 
the exercise of the Christian virtues. All its in- 
mates, male or female, apply their leisure to liberal 
studies and profitable reading, although piety is 
their first care. No wrangling, no angry word is 
heard within its walls. No one is idle; every one 
does his duty with alacrity, and regularity and good 
order are prescribed by the mere force of kindness 
and courtesy. Every one performs his allotted task, 
and yet all are as cheerful, as if mirth were their 
only employment: — surely such a house is entitled 
to be called a practical school of the Christian re- 
ligion."* 

* In giving the above quotation, Sir James Mackintosh in- 
dulges iu the following reflections. "Erasmus had not the 
t^eutiibility of his friend: he was more prone to smile than to 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 55 

With respect to More himself, such was 
the sweetness of his temper, that his son-in-law. 
Roper, who lived in his house for sixteen years, 
and, to use his own words, " knew his doings, and 
mind no man living so well," assures us that never, 
during all that time, did he see his countenance 
clouded, or hear his voice raised, in anger. Marga- 
ret Giggs, his protegee, was heard to declare, that 
she would sometimes commit, or pretend to commit 
a fault, for the purpose of hearing him chide her, 
he did it in so soft and affectionate a manner. Any- 
trifling disagreement that happened to arise in the 
family, principally from Mrs. More's quickness of 
temper, was speedily adjusted in his pleasant and 
good-humored way. In this manner, even her less 
tractable disposition was so far won upon, that she 
performed her part towards his children in a way to 
gain both their love and respect. The best proof of 
this is, their remaining after their marriage so many 
years under their father's roof. It is also record- 
ed, that so thoroughly did the taste for learning and 
liberal accomplishments pervade More's whole es- 
tablishment, that, if even a servant discovered an 
ear for music, or a talent for any particular art or 
accomplishment, it was sure to be encouraged. By 
this means, the large train of followers which every 
man of consequence was obliged, in those days, to 
retain in his service, was kept in a state of regular 
discipline, and of moral and mental improvement, 
almost unknown in the country. The provisions 
for maintaining this order, and keeping his house- 
hold pure from corrupt communications were admi- 

sigh at the concerns of men; but he was touched by the remem- 
brance of these domestic solemnities in the household of his 
friend. He manifests an agreeable emotion at the recollec- 
tion of these scenes in daily life which tended to hallow the 
natural authority of parents; to bestow a sort of dignity on 
humble occupations; to raise menial offices to the rank of 
virtues; to spread peace and cultivate kindness among those 
who had shared, and were soon again to share, the same mo- 
dest rites, in gently breathing around them a spirit of meek 
equality, which rather humbled the pride of the great, than 
disquieted the spirits of the lowly." 



Sf) SIR THOMAS MORE, 

rable. In his ample establishment at Chelsea, we 
find that there was a library, well furnished for the 
period, a room stored with objects of natural history, 
and instruments for the study of astronomy, and 
particularly of music, of which rational amusement 
he was extremely fond. Added to this, he had an 
extensive garden well laid out for pleasure and uti- 
lity; and as a preventive of idleness, and to afford his 
servants a little resource of their own, he allotted 
to every man his plot of g-round, which he was to 
cultivate and make the best of. 

When people would come to him with tales of 
things done or spoken against themselves or him, 
he would always make the best of the matter lie 
could: and when the thing could not be defended, 
he would excuse it on the ground of the intention. 

Another regulation was admirable, and from 
which a useful hint might be taken in our own days. 
During meals, in order to prevent that sort of tri- 
fling or improper conversation before children and 
servants, against which there is always reason to 
guard, he ordered such books to be read aloud as 
might prove instructive, and afterwards furnish 
matter for entertaining and rational conversation.* 
When the reading was ended, he would ask some 
one how he understood such and such a passage; 

* Thus in his Utopia.—" They begin every dinner and sup- 
per by reading something that periaineth to good manners 
and virtue, but it is sliort, that no man may be wearied by it; 
■and thereupon the elders take occasion for honest discourse, 
but neither tedious nor unpleasing. . . They also gladly hear 
the young men venture their opinions, and purposely provoke 
tliem to talk, that they may have a proof of every man's wit 
and understanding." 

rnscription for a Refectory. 



Hovv ■)(^^iri Qsaa-Qai. 

PLATO. 

Look first to the mind. 

The Mind be thy first anxious care: 
Next let the Body claim its share. 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 57 

this at once excited them to exert their attention, 
and led to friendly communications, generally sea- 
soned with some jest or other. Many of his pleas- 
ant sayings are written, but who, says Cresacre, 
could record the witty things and mirthful phrases 
which daily fell from him in his peculiar discourse? 

If he heard any one at his table beginning to 
detract his neighbor, he would break off the conver- 
sation in some such way as this — " You say you 
don't like the fashion of my dining room! well now, 
by your leave, sir, I think it well contrived, and 
fairly built enough." 

It is remarked of him, that though singularly 
inattentive to his own person and individual con- 
cerns, he was ever solicitous about those of others, 
and ever ready with a well-timed hint, and a piece 
of useful advice thrown in, as it were, accidentally.* 

Nor while attending to the moral wants of his 
household, was More inattentive to a still loftier and 
more important object — their duty to their Maker. 
It was his custom to rise very early himself, and 
to require his household to be up by times: he would 
then call them together to prayers, which he himself 
recited, together with certain psalms which he had 
selected and caused to be transcribed neatly in a 
volume. During the Holy week, he would have 
the passion from one of the Evangelists read each 
day, in presence of all his famil}"", and he would 
here and there explain the text in the way of com- 
ment and exhortation. 

" Sleep is so like death," says a father of the 
church, "that I dare not venture on it without 
prayer." Impressed with this truth. More repaired 
with his whole household to the chapel at a fixed 
hour every evening, and himself said the prayers in 
which they all joined. 

He never entered upon any business of impor- 
tance, says Roper, as for instance, when he was 

* Good words thatcompof course, far less do please, 
Than those that fall by sweet contingencies. 

Herrick. (1640.) 



58 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

first chosen to the privy-council, when he was sent 
ambassador, appointed Speaker of the house, or 
called to be Lord Chancellor, without first prepar- 
ing himself by confession, and receiving the blessed 
sacrament devoutly, " trusting more to the grace of 
God derived through these holy sacraments, than he 
did to his own wit, judgment, and experience." 

Roper adds, that being on one occasion sent for 
by the king upon urgent business, while he was 
hearing mass. More refused to stir till it was over. 
He was heard to say, as he left the chapel; 
" Let us first serve God: the king's turn will 
come soon enough after." It is satisfactory to learn, 
that Henry had the merit to be pleased with the 
piety and independence of his minister. 

Another thing worth noticing is the reverence 
he bore to holy and sanctified places so solemn 
was this feeling that nothing could induce him to 
converse on any temporal matter there, of however 
great weight and despatch it might be. 

We also learn that "he would often go on pil- 
grimages to holy places, but always on foot; a rare 
thing at that time, for even the common people go 
on horseback. Also in the procession on the Ro- 
gation week, he would be present; and once when, 
according to custom, the procession was 1o go to the 
confines of the parish, he was requested, for his 
state and dignity, to ride. His answer was: " God 
forbid I should follow my master on horseback, 
when he went on foot!" 

" And the more to do honor to God's service," 
says Roper, " he would, even when he was Lord 
Chancellor, sit and sing in the choir, with a sur- 
plice on. It once happened, that the Duke of Nor- 
folk, coming on a holiday todine with himat Chelsea, 
found him engaged in this way. After service, in 
going home with him arm in arm, he exclaimed; 
"Good God, my Lord Chancellor, what! turned 
parish clerk, parish clerk, eh! why you dishonor 
the king and his office." — " Nay, nay," quoth Sir 
Thomas, smiling upon the duke, " the king, your 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 59 

master and mine, will not surely be oifended for my 
thus serving his master and mine! There can be 
no dishonor to his office in that." And he then re- 
minded him of the story of King- Robert of France.* 

" So much," says the author of the anonymous life, 
" did he love the bounty and glory of the house of 
God, that vi^henever he savs^ a man of comely person 
and good presence, he would say: "It is a pity 
yonder man were not a priest, he would become the 
altar so well." 

Nor was he less solicitous for the spiritual welfare 
of his children, of which the following, as related 
by his grandson, will serve among other examples. 
When William Roper was a young man, he ad- 
dicted himself to more austerity than discretion 
warranted; the consequence was, as unfortunately 
sometimes happens in such cases, that when this 
ardor had worn itself out, and was succeeded by a 
stage of languor, he grew weary of the church fasts, 
and religious discipline. This too was the age of 
new opinions, and of doctrines more soothing to 
the depravity of our nature. The smooth and easy 
way to heaven promised to their followers by the 
promulgators of the " new learning," as they af- 
fected to call it, was specious and flattering. He 
began to read the books which issued in numbers 
from the presses in Holland, and were industriously 



* It is thus told in the " Mirror of our Ladj',"' which had been 
recently published, (1533.) King Robert of France was so devout 
towards God's service, that he would be in each feast at the 
Divine service in some monastery. And not only would he 
sing among the monks, but also he would put on a cope, and 
stand and sing as achantor in the midst of the choir. It happen- 
ed on a time when he was besieging a castle that had rebelled 
against him, that he was at Orleans on the feast of St. Angan. 
So he left his horse at the siege and went thither, and took a 
cope, and sung in the midst of the choir, as he was wont to 
do. And when he came to the Jignus Dei, and had begun it 
the third time with a high voice, kneeling down at each time 
on his knees, the walls of the castle that was besieged fell sud- 
denly to the ground; and so the castle was destroyed and the 
enemy overcome. And thus ye may see, that there is no better 
armor of defence against all enemies, than devout attentiors 
to the Lord's service." 



60 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

disseminated through the land by the partisans of 
the refugees there. The new spirit was infectious, 
nor was he long in imbibing its influence. And 
with it entered " another spirit worse than the first," 
the zeal for proselytism. " He grew vehement," 
says Cresacre, " in his new opinions, and zealous in 
breaking them to others; so that he would be always 
saying, what a ready way to heaven was now found 
out, so that no body need to sue saints' or men's 
prayers, but that God's ear was open to hear, and 
his mercy ready to forgive any sinner whatever 
who should call on him by faith. That faith alone 
was necessary to salvation, and having that only, 
he need not to doubt that he was an elect and saved 
soul, so that it was impossible for him to sin or fall 
away from God's favor. So deeply had he drank 
of this dangerous poison, that he came on a time 
to Sir Thomas to request him, that, as he was high 
in the king's favor, he would get him a license to 
preach what the Spirit had taught him; for he was 
assured that God had sent him to instruct the world; 
not knowing, God wot! any reason for this mission 
of his, but only his private spirit."* Sir Thomas 
with a smile, and " a look more in pity than in 
anger," thus addressed him; " Is it not sufficient, 
my good son Roper, that we, who are your friends, 
should know that you are a fool, but that you would 
have your folly proclaimed to the world?" After this, 
he often disputed with him on the subject of religion, 
but apparently without effect. At length he saw 
with pain that the new light had so dazzled his 
eyes, that he could not look on sound argument, but 
seemed daily to grow more captious, and more ob- 
stinately wedded to his opinions, and feeling, to 
use the language of an early writer, that " there 
are sturdy doubts and boisterous objections, that 
are to be conquered not in a martial posture, but on 



* Rastell thus expresses it: " He had an itching publicly to 
preach, thinking that he should be better able to edify the peo- 
ple, than the best doctor that comes to ^jt. Paul's cross." 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 61 

our knees," More said to him in an earnest tone; 
" In sober sadness, I see, son Roper, that disputa- 
tion will do thee no good. From henceforth I have 
done; I will dispute with thee no more: but this 
will I do, — I will pray for thee, and who knows but 
God may be favorable to thee, and touch thy hearth' 
Sir Thomas shortly after meeting with Mrs. Roper, 
said to her rather sadly, "Meg, I have borne along 
time with thy husband; I have reasoned and argued 
with him, and given him my poor fatherly counsel: 
but I perceive nothing of all this can call him home 
again. And therefore, Meg, as I have told him 
himself, I will no longer dispute with him; but yet 
will I not give him over; no, I will go another way 
to work, I will get me to God, and pray for him." 
And so committing him to heaven, he parted from 
him,but ceased not earnestly topour out his devotions 
before the throne of the divine mercy to that intent. 
"And behold," continues Cresacre, "my uncle not 
long after, being inspired with the light of grace, 
began to detest his heresies, and, like another St. 
Austin wrought upon by the prayers of a Monica, 
was entirely converted; so that, ever after, he was 
not only a perfect Catholic, but lived and died a stout 
and valiant champion of the faith. His alms, and 
the sums he devoted to charitable uses, were so 
great, as to appear to exceed his annual income. 
In his latter years, he enjoyed an office of great 
gain, so that he was enabled to bestow in charitable 
purposes upwards of five hundred pounds a year." 
A less believing age will smile at the remainder of 
the history. " After my uncle's death," adds this 
confiding nephew, " I have heard it reported by them 
that were servants in his house, that during the 
three or four days that his body lay unburied, there 
was heard once a day, for the space of a quarter of 
an hour, the sweetest music that could be imagined; 
not of any voices of men, but an angelic harmony, 
as a token how gracious that soul was to Almighty 
God." 
In educating his children. More seems to have 
6 



63 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

combined the most winning- manner of imparting" 
instruction, with very hig-h ideas of the value of 
learning. In nothing is he more remarkable, than 
in his eagerness to render his daughters, in par- 
ticular, rich in mental resources, and fit companions 
for men of eminence in literature and talent. His 
view of the advantages of study, as respects the for- 
mation of the female character, affords a more de- 
cisive proof of his elevation above the notions of 
his time, than any other fact. The fashions of the 
court, one of the gayest ever known, were most un- 
favorable to the cultivation of solid learning in the 
softer sex: and More, perhaps, had the singular 
merit of first making a stand against the influence 
of example, and of rendering the women of his 
family learned, studious, and sedate. Certain it is, 
that, from this period, a higher idea of the capaci- 
ties of the female character seems to have been in- 
troduced into England. The princesses Mary and 
Elizabeth were carefully educated. Both of them 
read the Greek poets and the most difficult Latin 
authors, besides speaking and writing the latter lan- 
guage with fluency. Two other ladies of the same 
age, Ann Askew and the unfortunate Lady Jane Grey, 
are also cited as still more eminently accomplished. 
In some instances, these studies were even exten- 
ded to an acquaintance with the writings of the 
Greek and Latin fathers. At all events, it was 
a great step, at such a period, to make the admis- 
sion, that woman was worthy of being raised above 
the mere plaything, or domestic drudge. 

A most delightful account of Sir Thomas More's 
School, as his domestic academy was commonly 
called, has been given us in the letters of his 
learned and faithful friend, Erasmus;* and we have 
yet more valuable testimony in the letters of More 
himself to his children and their preceptors, at such 



* It will give us no mean idea of the estimation in which 
Erasmus held this domestic academy, when we find him dedi- 
cating some of his Commentaries " To Sir Thomas More's 
School." 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 63 

times as he was absent from them. The school 
consisted of his own five children, a step-daughter 
by his second wife, afterwards Mrs. Alice Alingham, 
an orphan girl, subsequently married to his friend Dr. 
Clement, whom he generously educated with his 
daughters, and who appears to have partaken equally 
with them of his love and care. Afterwards, when 
his sons and daughters married. More seeing that a 
family so attached could not endure the idea of 
separation, contrived to accommodate them all in his 
house at Chelsea, as well as, in the sequel, eleven 
grand-children, who were the fruit of these mar- 
riages. 

Two or three of his letters to his children, during 
his temporary absence on his duties at court, have 
fortunately been preserved, and will prove a treat 
to all who esteem and admire More in the character 
of a good father, as well as that of a great states- 
man. 

Thomas More to his whole school sendeth greeting- — 
You see how I have found out a compendious way 
of saluting you all, and making spare of time and 
paper, which I must needs have wasted, in saluting 
every one of you by name; which would have been 
very superfluous, because you are all so dear to me, 
some in one respect, some in another, that I can 
leave no one among you unsaluted. Yet is there no 
better motive why I should love you, than because 
you are scholars; learning seeming to bind me more 
strictly to you than nearness of blood. I am glad, 
therefore, that Mr. Drue is returned safe, for whom 
you know I was anxious. Did I not love you ex- 
ceedingly, I should envy you the rare happiness 
of having so many great scholars for your masters. 
I learn that Mr. Nicholas is also with you, and that 
you have learned of him much astronomy; I hear 
you have proceeded with him so far in this science, 
that you now know not only the pole star, the dog, 
and such common constellations, but also, which 
argues you to be absolute and cunning astronomers, 



€4 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

to be able to discern the sun from the moon!* Go 
forward, then, with this your new and admirable 
skill, by which you thus climb up to the stars, and 
while you daily consider them with your eyes, let 
your minds also be in heaven, and more especially 
in this holy season of Lent. Let that excellent 
and pious song of Boethius sound in your ears, 
whereby you are taught also with your minds to 
penetrate heaven, lest when the eye is lifted to the 
skies, the soul should grovel among the brute 
beasts. t My dearest children, farewell. From 
the Court this 23d March, 1516. 

Another. Thomas More to his best and beloved 
children, and to Margaret Giggs, whom he numbereth 
am,ong his own, sendeth greeting: — 

The merchant of Bristol brought me your letters, 
the next day after he had received them of you; with 
the which I was exceedingly delighted. For there 
can come nothing, yea though never so rude, and 

* More cannot resist the temptation of a dash of waggery even 
in writing to his school. On another occasion, he exhorts them 
to get ideas of their own, and not be content " to deck them- 
selves with plumes of other birds, lest the jackdaws should 
gather round them, and pluck their tails for very shame." 

t The following is a feeble imitation of the vigorous verses 
of Boethius to which More refers:— 

How fallen our nature, we may see, 
Ah, wretched man! the proof in thee. 
Ere sin its energies confin'd. 
How firm and vigorous was thy mind. 
Still ranging, with unwearied view, 
Creation's ample circuit through; 
The sun, unfailing fount of day. 
You trac'd through all his radiant way; 
The moon array'd in borrow'd light. 
And every star that gilds the ni;:ht; 
The planets, too, that wandering go. 
And seem no settled course to know. 
Through all their mazes you pursued, 
Pleas'd to confess that " all was good." 

But now, sad change! that soaring mind 
Is fall'n, uunerv'd, disorder'd, blind; 
Of earth-born cares the wretched prey: 
For all the man is sunk away. 
And, sad reverse! now fix'd those eyes 
To earth, that erst could scan the skies. W. 



His LIFE AND TIMES. 65 

never so meanly polished from this workshop of 
yours, but it procureth me more delight than other 
men's doings, be they ever so eloquent; no much 
does your writing stir up my affection towards you. 
But exclusive of this, your letters may also very 
Well please me for their own worth, being full of fine 
wit, and of pure Latin phrase. There were none of 
them all but pleased me exceedingly; yet to tell you 
ingenuously what I think, my son John's letter 
pleaseth me best, both because it was longer than 
the others, as also that he seems to me to have taken 
more pains than the rest. For he not only pointeth 
out the matter becomingly, and speaketh elegantly, 
but he playeth also pleasantly with me, and return- 
eth my jests upon me again very wittily; and this 
he doth, not only pleasantly, but temperately withal, 
showing that he is mindful with whom he jesteth, to 
to wit, his father, whom he endeavoreth so to de- 
light, that he is also afraid to offend. Hereafter, I 
expect every day letters from each one of you; 
neither will I accept of such excuses, as you com- 
plain of, that you had no leisure, or that the carrier 
went away suddenly, or that you have no matter to 
write. John is notv/ont to allege any such things, 
and nothing can hinder you from writing, but many 
things encourage you thereto. Wh^ should you 
lay any fault upon the carrier, seeing yon may 
prevent his coming, and have them ready made up 
and sealed, two days before any offer themselves 
to carry them. And how can you want matter of 
writing unto me, who am delighted to hear either 
of your studies or of your play: whom you may then 
please exceedingly, when having nothing to write 
of, you write as largely as you can of that nothing, 
than which nothing is more easy for you to do, 
especially being women, and therefore prattlers by 
nature, and amongst whom daily a great story riseth 
of nothing. This, however, I admonish you to do, 
that, whether you write of serious matters, or of tri- 
fles, you write with diligence and attention, preme- 
ditating it before. Neither will it be amiss, if 
6* 



€6 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

you first indite it in English, for then it may be more 
easily translated into Latin, while the mind, freed 
from inventing, is attentive to find apt and eloquent 
words. And though I point this to your choice, 
whether you will do so, or not, yet I enjoin you, 
by all means that you diligently examine what 
you have written, before you write it out fair again; 
first considering attentively the whole sentence, and 
after examining every part thereof, by which means 
you may easily find if any solecisms have escaped 
you; which being corrected, and your letter written 
fair, do not find it irksome to examine it over again; 
for sometimes the same faults will creep in at the 
second writing, that you had before blotted out. By 
this diligence of yours, your very trifles will be- 
come serious matters; for as nothing is so pleasing 
but may be spoiled by prating garrulity, so nothing 
is by nature so unpleasant, as may not by industry 
by made full of grace and pleasantness. Farewell, 
my sweetest children. From the Court this 3d of 
September, 1516. 

Another. Thomas More to his dearest daughters 
Margaret^ Elizabeth^ and Cecily^ and to Margaret 
Giggs, as dear to him as if she were his own, sendcth 
greeting: — 

I can sufficiently express, my best beloved wench- 
es, how exceedingly your elegant letters have pleas- 
ed me. Nor am 1 the less delighted to hear, that in 
all your journeying, though you change places often, 
you omit none of your accustomed exercises, either 
in making declamations, composing of verses, or in 
your logical exercises. By this I persuade myself 
that you dearly love me, because you are so very 
careful to please me by your diligence in my ab- 
sence, to perform those things which you know are 
so grateful to me when present. And as I find this 
your mind and affection so much to delight me, so 
will I procure that my return shall be profitable to 
you all. And persuade yourselves, that there is no- 
thing in the midst of these my troublesome cares 
and fatigues of business, that recreateth me so much 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 67 

as when I read some of your labors, by which I find 
those things to be true which your loving master 
writes so affectionately of you; for had not your 
own letters evidently shown me how earnest your 
desire is towards learning, I should have judged 
that he had rather written out of affection than ac- 
cording to the truth; but what you write makes 
him be believed, and myself to imagine those things 
to be true of your witty and acute disputations, of 
which he so much boasts as almost to exceed be- 
lief. I am, therefore, marvellously desirous to re- 
turn home, that I may hear you, and set my scholar 
to dispute v/ith you, who is slow to believe yet out 
of all hope or conceit to find you able to correspond 
to the praises given you by your master. But I hope, 
knowing how steady you are in your pursuits, that 
you will shortly surpass your master, if not in dis- 
puting, at least, like every woman, in not giving up 
the point in dispute. My dear wenches, farewell. 

Roper says that he would sometimes come into 
their studyroom in the midst of their exercises, and 
exhort them to diligence; " My children," woukl he 
say, "remember that virtue and learning are the 
meat, and play but the sauce." 

While Erasmus admired the proficiency of the 
young ladies, and shared in the pleasure it diffused, 
he could not help remarking one day to his friend, 
how severe a calamity it would be, if, by any of 
those fatalities to which man is liable, such accom- 
plished beings, whom he had so painfully and so 
successfully labored to improve, should happen to 
be snatched away! " If they are to die," replied 
More, without hesitation, " I would rather have 
them die well-informed than ignorant." " This 
reply," continues Erasmus, "reminded me of a say- 
ing of Phocion, whose wife, as he was about to 
drink the poison, according to his sentence, ex- 
claimed: " Ah! my husband, you die innocent!" 
" And would you, my wife," he rejoined, " rather 
have me die guilty]" 

It is said that Sir Thomas's first wife, having 



^8 sm THOMAS MOREj 

had three daughters, put up many earnest vows for 
a son. Her prayer was heard, and the knight used 
to say, " That she had prayed so long for a boy, 
that she brought forth one at last, who would be a 
boy as long as he lived." This expression, by which 
probably nothing more was intended than an illusion 
to the levity of the youth's temper, has been too li- 
terally interpreted by Mr. Cayley and others to sig- 
nify a weakness of intellect, and poor John has been 
unceremoniously classed among the heroum Jilii.* 

In the splendid collection of portraits from origi- 
nal drawings by Holbein, in the King of England's 
collection, published by Mr. Chamberlaine, is a 
beautiful engraving of More's son. The editor ob- 
serves, that the received opinion of this youth's 
mental weakness is contradicted by this very intel- 
lectual head, and by the attitude in which the faith- 
ful artist has painted him— with a book in his hand, 
in the attitude of deep study. He justly observes, 
that due allowance must be made for More's anti- 
thetical phrase; and that, if the father could not 
withhold his joke, it should not be construed to the 
prejudice of the son. Besides, we have the evi- 
dence of Erasmus to oppose to this, who, in one of 
his letters, describes him as "a youth of the best 
hopes." He has also, a letter addressed to him, 
full of expressions of respect and esteem, and in 
1531, he dedicated to him a translation of Aristotle, 
as did Grynoeus that of Plato, some years later. 

He was married to the sole heiress of an ancient 
and respectable family of Barnborough, in York- 
shire. The Rev. Joseph Hunter has satisfactorily 
proved, th^t the Life of Sir Thomas More, usually 
known under the name of his great grandson, Tho- 
mas More, is the work of John Cresacre More, se- 
cond son of the above. His youngest daughter, 
Gertrude, also composed a work entitled " Spiritual 

* Buffon, the celebrated naturalist, had but a single son, 
who, in point of intelligence, proved the very converse of his 
father. Kivarol, the wit of that day, observed— "That he ivas 
the very worst chapter in all his father's Natural History." 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 69 

Exercises," which is favorably spoken of. It was 
printed in Paris, 1658, with a portrait of the autho- 
ress, and is a work of great rarity. 

The following is a little specimen of badinage, in 
an epistle addressed by More to his Margaret only. 

My dearest Margaret: — You ask for money of 
your father, without the slightest fearor shame, and 
what is worse, the letter in which you ask it is of 
such a kind, that I cannot refuse your request, do 
what I will. Indeed, I could find in my heart to re- 
compense your letter, not as Alexander did by Cho- 
ritus, giving him for every line a Phillipine of 
gold; but, if my pocket were as large as my will, 1 
would bestow two crowns of the purest gold for 
every syllable of the same. Herein, 1 send you as 
much as you requested; I should have been willing to 
send you more, but I like to have my penny-worth 
for my penny. As I bestow with pleasure, so am 
I desirous to be asked, and to be fawned on by my 
daughters; and more especially by you, Meg, whom 
virtue and learning have made so dear to me. 
Therefore, the sooner you have spent this money 
well, as you are ever wont to do, and the sooner 
you ask for more in as handsome a way as you did 
for the last, know, that the sooner you will do your 
father a singular pleasure. My beloved daughter, 
farewell. 

Several letters from More to this his favorite 
daughter, will be found among our Selections, In pe- 
rusing them, the reader will be struck by the import- 
ance attached by More to her learning. The enco- 
miums bestowed on her progress are such as no 
common acquirements could deserve; and yet their 
novelty may have been a strong temptation in those 
days to overrate them. The taste of the times seems 
tc have inclined much to light reading, if to any at 
all; the press of Caxton had, in the two preceding 
reigns, furnished the nation with a tolerable store 
of romance-reading, and with some translations 
from the Italian. The works of Chaucer had also 
been rendered more accessible, and we find Margaret 



70 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

quoting him in her letters. On this love of romance- 
reading', More's opponent, Tindall, has the following 
reflections: " That this forbidding- the laity to read 
the Scriptures, is not for the love of your souls is 
evident, inasmuch as they permit you to read Robin 
Hood, Bevys of Hampton, Hercules, Hector, and 
Troilus, with a thousand histories and fables of 
love, and wantonness, and ribaldry, to corrupt the 
minds of youth!" From the absence of all allusion 
to these popular books, in More's letters and other 
writings, it is, perhaps, not unfair to infer, that, inde- 
pendently of his own early-acquired taste for these 
studies, one of his reasons for insisting so much on 
the study of the learned languages, was that they 
might serve as a substitute for this species of litera- 
ture." In a letter to Gunnel, one of the preceptors to 
his family, he offers some excellent practical reflec- 
tions, worthy the attention of every father of a family. 
It will be found in our Volume of SekdionsAogeiher 
with all the letters that passed between More and 
his family, which are too precious to be omitted. 

In More's volume of Latin poems there is also 
an epistle in verse addressed by him to his chil- 
dren, probably in one of his journeys to the court 
at Woodstock. As it has never been alluded to by 
any of More's biographers, I shall present the 
reader with a copy, accompanied by an attempt at 
translation. (See the Selections.) 

Such was More's establishment at Chelsea. • In 
hours of subsequent trial, and amidst the bitterness 
of separation, which must have fallen with tenfold 
weight on a family who had never quitted their 
patriarchal roof, Margaret found a melancholy plea- 
sure in recurring to the happier hours spent in this 
family circle: " What," she afterwards wrote, "do 
you think my most dear father, doth comfort us at 
Chelsea in your absence^ surely, the remembrance 
of your manner of life passed here amongst us, 
your holy conversation, your wholesome counsels, 
your examples of virtue." Who can suspect an 
eulogy like this? 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 71 

More maintained an active correspondence with 
several friends on the continent, in the Latin lan- 
guage, which was then the exclusive medium of 
communication. But with no one did he corres- 
pond more regularly, and unbosom his mind more 
freely than to Erasmus; and this scholar's letters in 
reply are filled with epithets indicative of the over- 
flowing of a heart fully impressed v* ith the benig- 
nity and kindliness of the man he is addressing — ■ 
" Suavissime Moro" — Charissime Moro" — " Mel- 
litissime Moro." 

On his friend's return to the continent. More receiv- 
ed as a present from him, his portrait painted by the 
celebrated Holbein, which was sent by the painter's 
own hand, accompanied by a letter of introduction. 
More took the first opportunity of making the king 
acquainted with the painter's merits, and he did it in 
his usual odd way of contriving things. He caused 
Holbein to bring the choicest of his works, and dis- 
pose them in his great hall to the best advantage, 
and in order to take the king by surprise, he invited 
him to an entertainment. The plan succeeded; 
Henry, struck with the beauty of the pictures, 
eagerly inquired if the artist were still living, and, 
if so, whether his services were to be obtained for 
love or money. Holbein was within hearing, and 
was led by the hand to the royal presence. The 
consequence was not only the patronage of the king, 
but the fullest employment from all the nobility and 
men of wealth and eminence, as the various galle- 
ries in England still testify. Among other works, 
he signalised his skill in a painting of More and 
his family, a copy of which Sir Thomas sent to 
Erasmus, in return for the compliment he had paid 
him. In a letter to Margaret Roper, this great scho- 
lar acknowledges in the most enthusiastic terms the 
reception of this picture. 

"I want words," says he, "to express to you 
my delight on contemplating the picture of your 
family which Holbein has so happily executed. If 
I were present with the originals, I could not have 



73 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

a more accurate idea of them. I see you all before 
me, but no one more strikingly than yourself, in 
whose features shine those mental accomplishments, 
those domestic virtues, which have rendered you 
the ornament of your country, and of your age!" 

As this picture is considered to be a faithful repre- 
sentation of a domestic scene in More's family, the 
reader will not be displeased to have a more parti- 
cular description of it. It is divided into two 
groups. In the foreground of the first are More's 
daughters, Margaret and Cecily, kneeling, with 
their mother-in-law, Alice, in the same position. In 
the centre of the second group, sit More and his 
father. John More, the son, and Harris, his favor- 
ite servant, are standing the last in the group. Be- 
hind More and his father stands Ann Cresacre, in 
her 15th year, to whom young More is supposed to 
be newly espoused. Elizabeth, More's second 
daughter, and Margaret Giggs, pointing to an open 
book, stand foremost in the second group. A violin 
hung against the wainscot, near Sir Thomas, would 
seem to indicate his taste for music. 

This painting is still preserved with religious 
care at Nostel Priory, in Yorkshire^ the seat of 
Charles Winn, Esq, who is in direct descent 
from Cresacre More. The Reverend Frognall Dib- 
den, in his amusing Bibliographical Tour, (1838,) 
thus speaks of this ancient mansion and painting. 
" Nostel Priory, is a large arjd noble stone man- 
sion, with a grand flight of steps. We entered the 
lower apartments. Two large wooden seats or 
sofas, of the age of Elizabeth or James, showed the 
owner to have an eye of taste in matters of ancient 
furniture. Mr. Winn made his appearance, and in 
a trice I was introduced to my dear old acquaint- 
ance, Sir Thomas More. I might be said, for a lit- 
tle moment, to have silently worshipped the pic- 
ture. Its entirety and freshness surpassed all 
expectation. The owner seemed to be secretly en- 
joying my abstraction. He well might: for a more 
surprising and interesting production I had never 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 73 

before gazed upon. England has nothing more pre- 
cious than this picture, as she has no character more 
perfect than he who occupies the principal place in 
it. I wondered as I beheld; and even yet, after all 
the pictorial glories seen by me at Hamilton Palace, 
I revert in fancy to this picture, as the most valua- 
ble of its kind in the kingdom. What characters, 
what anecdotes belong to this matchless perform- 
ance. Five thousand guineas have, I understand, 
been refused for it." 

The copy which More sent to Erasmus, is in the 
Townhall at Basle, where it is preserved with great 
care. 

It will not surprise the reader, vrho is acquainted 
with the usages of those times, to find in Sir Tho- 
mas's establishment, a person who was called The 
Fool. King Henry kept such a personage about 
him to amuse his leisure, who ranks as no un- 
important personage in the gossipping history of 
that period. Will Somers figured on many a me- 
morable occasion, and in Ellis's " Letters" may be 
seen a portrait of him in the same painting with his 
royal master. It was not even thought to detract 
from the gravity of a prelate of the church to keep 
such a character about him; and the following an- 
ecdote of Wolsey in his disgrace, will show what 
importance he attached to his Fool, who in the 
midst of his destitution and distress, was still found 
attending upon his person, and exhibiting proofs of 
attachment that might have shamed the 

Minions of splendor shrinking from distress. 

After rendering up all his immense vrealth and 
estates to the king, Wolsey quitted London for his 
country house at Esher. As he rode along in deep 
dejection, a horseman w^as seen galloping after his 
party, who proved to be Sir John Norris, one of the 
king's chamberlains. On coming up, the knight 
presented him with a ring, which he declared the 
king had taken from his own finger, bidding him 
deliver it to his Grace, as a token that he should 
7 



74 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

be of good cheer, for that he was even now as much 
as ever in his Majesty's favor. This sudden news 
entirely overcame the Cardinal, and leaping from 
his mule with almost youthful speed, he fell upon 
his knees, pulled off his cap, and returned thanks 
to heaven for such joyful intelligence. When vSir 
John was about to take leave, he again thanked 
him, declaring, that if he were lord of a kingdom, 
the half of it could scarce be reward enough for his 
happy tidings. " But good Master Norris," added 
he, " consider that I have nothing left but the 
clothes on my back; therefore I entreat thee accept 
this small reward at my hands," presenting him 
with a gold chain, at which hung a cross of the 
same metal, containing a piece of the Holy Cross. 
"As for my sovereign," he continued, " I love him 
belter than myself, and have faithfully served him 
according to the best of my poor wits; and now, 
sorry I am that I have no worthy token to send him; 
but stay, here is Patch, my Fool, that rides beside 
me; I beseech thee, take him to court, and give him to 
his majesty — I assure you, for any nobleman's 
pleasure, he's worth a thousand pounds."* The 
fool, however, of whom this was spoken, was 
seized with a paroxysm of affection on being or- 
dered to leave his old master, and loudly declared 
that he would not stir from the spot; but he was 
conveyed away by six stout yeomen, and delivered 
to the king, who received him gladly. 

The name of More's fool was Harry Patterson, 
and he seems to have been a simple-hearted inoffen- 
sive creature. Margaret Roper relates of him, that, 
meeting her one day, he asked where Sir Thomas 
was, and hearing he was still in the Tower, on ac- 
count of his refusal to take the oath, he waxed even 
angry with his master, and said; " Why] what ail- 

* His remark to Henry, the first time he visited the Cardinal 
after receiving the title of Defender of the Faith, is upon re- 
cord: " Prithee, good Hal, is it not enough for you and me to 
defend ourselves, and leave the Faitn to defend itself?" 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 75 

eth him that he will not swear"? Wherefore should 
he stick to swear — I have sworn the oath myself!" 

Sometimes these characters were permitted to 
indulge in liberties, which another state of society 
would consider insupportable. Witness the follow- 
ing^ instance: 

King- Henry dined at Windsor, at Cardinal 
Wolsey's, in the chapel yard, at the time when 
he was building that admirable work, his tomb. 
At the gate stood a number of poor people, to be 
served with alms, when dinner was done; and, as 
Will Somers, the Jester, passed by, they saluted 
him, taking him for a worthy personage, which 
pleased him. In he comes; and finding the king at 
dinner, and the Cardinal by, attending; to disgrace 
him that he never loved — " Harry." says he, " lend 
me ten pounds." — " What to do?" says the king. 
" To pay three or four of the Cardinal's creditors," 
^uoth he, " to whom my word is passed, and they 
are come now for the money." — "That thou shalt, 
Will," quoth he. " Creditors of mine!" says the 
Cardinal, "I'll give your grace my head, if any 
man can justly ask me of a penny." — "No!" says 
Will, " lend me ten pounds. If I pay it not where 
thou owest it, I'll give thee twenty for it." — " Do 
so," says the king. " That I will, my liege," says 
the Cardinal, " though I know I owe no man." 
With that, he lends Will ten pounds. Will goes 
to the gate, and distributes it to the poor, and re- 
turns with the empty bag." "There is thy bag 
again," says he, " thy creditors are satisfied, and 
my word out of danger." — " Who received it," says 
the king, " the brewer or the baker]" " Neither, 
Harry," says Will: " but Cardinal, answer me one 
thing: — to whom dost thou owe thy soulT" " To 
God," quoth he.—" To whom thy wealth]" " To 
the poor," says he. " Take thy forfeit, Harry," 
says the fool, "open confession, open penance! his 
head is thine: for to the poor at the gate I paid his 
debt, which he yields is due. Or if thy stony heart 
will not yield it, Lord Cardinal, save thy head by 



76 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

denying thy word, and lend it me, and, by my 
troth, hang- me when! pay thee!" The kin^ laughed 
at the jest, and so did the Cardinal; but it grieved 
him to jest away ten pounds so lightly. 

Those who feel curious to know more of this 
singular trait in the domestic manners of our fore- 
fathers, may consult Mr. Deuce's " Illustrations of 
Shakspeare," where considerable light is thrown 
upon this subject. 



His LIFE AND TIMES. 77 



CHAPTER IV. 

1517—1525. MTAT. 43. 

MORE AT COURT — QUELLS A POPULAR TUMULT — IS 
MADE TREASURER OF THE EXCHEQUER — DEFENDS 
HENRY AGAINST LUTHER— MADE SPEAKER OF THE 
HOUSE OF COMMONS. 

More enters on his official duties—Exerts his influence in the ci- 
ty in quelling; a popular conmiotion — Addresses a letter to the 
University of Oxford on the cultivation of the Greek languai;e 
— Is made treasurer of the Exchequer — His intimacy with the 
king— Rise and progress of the Refonnalion— King Henry 
writes a Defence of the eleven Sacraments, and is rewarded 
by the title of Defender of the Faith— Luther attacks the 
king's work, and viore undertakes itsdefetice — More is chosen 
Speaker of the House of Commons- His political opposition 
to \\ olsey — Their personal friendship — Sketch of the life and 
cliaracter of Wolsey. 

We now return from More in the bosom of his 
happy family, to Sir Thomas installed in his new 
honors at court. From the time he was persecuted 
into the acceptance of a place in the privy council, 
may be dated the surrender, in a great measure 
at least, of his taste for domestic life and his 
predilection for studious leisure. " He had re- 
solved," says Erasmus, " to be content with his pri- 
vate station; but having- been successful on more 
than one mission abroad, Henry, not discouraged 
by so unusual a thing as the refusal of a pension, 
did not rest till he had drawn More into the palace: 
for why should I not say drawn, since no man ever 
labored with more industry for admission to a court, 
than More to keep out of if?" But let us hear the 
new courtier's own account of his feelings at this 
time, as described in a letter to Bishop Fisher, 
which Stapleton has preserved. 
7* 



78 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

" I came most unwillingly to court, as every 
one knoweth, and as the king- in joke sometimes 
tells me. And to this day, I seem to sit as 
awkwardly there, as one who never rode before 
sitteth in a saddle. But our prince, though I am far 
from being in his special favor, is so affable and kind 
to all, that every one, let him be ever so diffident, 
findeth some reason or other for imagining he loveth 
him; just as our London dames persuade themselves 
that our Lady's image smileth upon them, as they 
pray before it. I am neither so fortunate as to de- 
serve such favorable tokens, nor so sanguine as to 
flatter myself that I do; yet such are his ma- 
jesty's virtues and learning, and such his daily in- 
creasing industry, that seeing him the more and 
more advance in good and truly royal accomplish- 
ments, I feel this court life begin to hang somewhat 
less heavily upon me." 

Nor was More singular in this his favorable 
opinion of Henry's earlier court, although the no- 
velty of his position, and these early evidences of 
royal favor cannot but be supposed to have had 
their influence even upon the judgment of More. 
Speaking of this court, Erasmus says, "the fragrance 
of her honorable fame is widely diffused; for she 
has a king who possesses every princely attribute, 
and a queen in no way inferior to him; and besides 
this a number of worthy, learned, and discreet sub- 
jects. Li a letter from London to the preceptor of 
the Archduke Ferdinand, he observed; " Like your- 
self, I often wish that our court might imitate that 
of Britain, which is full of scholars, and men pro- 
ficient in all the arts. They stand round the royal 
table, where literary and philosophic subjects are 
discussed, such as the education of a prince, the 
best methods of study, or some question of morals. 
In a word, the company at the palace is such that, 
there is no academy you would undervalue in com- 
parison with it." It must not, however, be forgotten, 
that much of this praise reflects back upon Henry's 
father and exemplary mother. 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 79 

More's active services were very speedily put in 
requisition, in consequence of a disturbance in the 
city of London, the immediate occasion of which 
was as follows. The citizens had, for several 
years past, been jealous of the encroachments of 
foreign artificers by whom a large part of the mer- 
cantile and mechanical business of the city and 
country was engrossed. The discontent had now 
reached its height. A number of the citizens, 
headed by one Lincoln, a broker, applied to Dr. 
Bell, a celebrated preacher of the time, to read a 
summary of their grievances from the pulpit, and to 
preach in behalf of the people against the foreign 
artificers. Allured by the hope of popularity, the 
divine unfortunately complied. From the text, 
" The heaven is the Lord's, but the earth hath he 
given to the children of men," he undertook to 
show that the land they inhabited was given to 
Englishmen; and as birds defend their nest, so 
ought Englishmen to cherish and maintain them- 
selves, and, out of love for their native land, should 
not hesitate in aggrieving aliens and driving them 
forth. Convinced by this logic of what they were 
interested to believe, the apprentices and common 
people grew bolder in their animosity against the 
foreigners, and insulted them in the streets. The 
festival of May day, when every substantial citizen 
turned his back on business, and went forth a May- 
ing into the woods and meadows, was chosen for 
carrying into effect a plot formed for putting all the 
aliens in the city to death. It was arrested by the 
vigilance of Sir Thomas, who, in concert with the 
aldermen of the city, issued a mandate that no person, 
after 9 o'clock on May-day eve should stir out, but 
keep his doors shut and his servants within. The 
indiscretion of one of the aldermen, some days 
after, blew the discontent into a flame. Several 
thousands of the people collected, and broke open 
the Compter prison and also that of Newgate, in 
which were several prisoners committed for vio- 
lence done to foreigners. Their numbers were 



80 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

hourly augmenting, and the aspect of things be- 
came alarming. Sir Thomas, as we have already 
seen, was a favorite in the city, and relying upon the 
influence of his character, he met this enraged body 
at St. Martin's gate, and had nearly succeeded in 
persuading them to return peaceably to their homes, 
when some wanton individuals having thrown 
stones at one of More's com.panions, the confusion 
became general. It was now found necessary to 
call in military force, and this array of tattered 
men, and squalid women and children, was soon 
dispersed. Thirteen hundred were taken prisoners, 
four hundred condemned, and thirteen ordered out 
to immediate execution; but only the ringleader, 
Lincoln, actually suffered death; the rest being 
released at the earnest importunity of the queen, 
and the king's sisters, Mary of France and Marga- 
ret of Scotland, On this occasion, the king's 
closet presented the singular spectacle of three 
queens soliciting on their knees the king's pardon 
for an infuriated mob; it is probable that this was 
owing to the additional influence of More and Wol- 
sey, to whom Henry could, at this time, refuse 
nothing. 

To this period, also Wood, the Oxford annalist, 
refers the proof which More gave of his zeal for 
learning, by his Letter to the University of Oxford, 
on the study of Greek. A kind of civil war had 
sprung up betvi^een the partisans of that language, 
who were considered as innovators in education, 
and the larger body, comprehending the aged and 
those whose reputations were established, and who 
were content to be no wiser than their forefathers. 
There existed another cause of this excitement: the 
public mind was in a ferment on account of the 
nascent opinions of the reformation; every thing new 
was looked upon with suspicion, as possibly con- 
nected with these opinions. A faction of the stu- 
dents denominated themselves Trojans, and had 
their Priam, Hector, Paris, &c., to denote their hos- 
tility of the Greeks. This pedantry had the good 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 81 

effect of awakening- the zeal of More for his Gre- 
cian masters, and of inducing- him to withstand the 
barbarism which would exclude the noblest produc- 
tions of the human mind from the education of En- 
glish youth. As this letter was well-timed and 
important in its results, we will give an outline of 
its contents, and the more willingly, as previous 
biographers have barely alluded to it, though 
Fiddes in his Life of Wolsey calls attention thereto, 
as " containing much deserving of notice." It is 
headed as follows: "Thomas More to the Rev. 
Fathers, Procurators, and other members of the 
Senate of Oxford." After starting with an apology 
that one with so little pretensions to learning, {ho- 
muncio doctrind minus quam mediocri,) should pre- 
sume to address the venerable fathers of the national 
education; he thus continues with much good taste 
and feeling: " Though the idea of addressing your 
reverend body at first overawed me, I was encour- 
aged to make an effort, however humble, in the 
cause of learning, by the reflection that nothing but 
ignorance could discourage an honest endeavor. I 
could not persuade myself to be silent upon a point, 
where the interests of truth required me to speak. 
When in London, an account was brought me of 
the kind of conspiracy, formed in the bosom of my 
old Alma Mater against a favorite pursuit of mine 
and my friends." He then goes on to describe the 
struggle between the two parties, the adherents to 
the old scholastic forms, and those who favored the 
revival of Greek letters. After a good deal of pri- 
vate skirmishing, at length the parties broke out 
into open war. The opponents of the new learning 
assumed the appellation of Trojans, and by way of 
derision called their adversaries, Greeks. The lat- 
ter gloried in the name, and, fired with the love of 
the language of Homer and Plato, arrayed them- 
selves for the defence of their favorites. The lead- 
ers of each party took the names of the adverse 
heroes of the Iliad; nor was it a war of words only; 
blows were dealt in good earnest, and things were 



82 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

carried to such a pass as to threaten the well-being' 
of this seat of the muses. " At first," says More, 
" I was disposed to treat this contest as a mere 
ebullition of youthful folly, but lately, while accom- 
panying- the icing to Abingdon, news was brought 
me that things had proceeded to extremities. I was 
informed that one man had rendered himself parti- 
cularly conspicuous; a person, wise in his own con- 
ceit, a jocular and gifted fellow in the conceit of 
his own party, but a very madman in the opinion of 
all good and orderly people. So far did this man 
forget himself, so far forget his duty, the place, and 
the sacred season which was Lent, as to attack the 
Greeks from the University pulpit; and not the 
Greek learning only, but all the liberal arts came 
in for their share of the abuse. What will be 
thought of our University abroad] What will be 
said when it is heard that the chair of truth was 
converted into a scene of Bacchanalian raving; that 
instead of the pious being edified by the maxims of 
the Gospel, the profane were diverted by the apish 
tricks of an insane babbler; one who could hardly 
smatter Latin, who in the liberal arts was a mere 
dolt, and whoas to Greek knew not a panicle — nh y^v. 
But the zeal of our declaimer did not stop here; he 
cried aloud that all who sought this Greek learning 
were heretics, that the readers thereof were devils 
incarnate, and the willing hearers, were on the 
highway to eternal perdition. Surely it were well 
for this man of such heated m.ind and excitable 
temperament, to be kept safely locked up for a sea- 
son, and cooled down by a wholesome course of 
prayer and fasting." More then launches into an 
eloquent eulogium of the Greek learning, as exempli- 
fied not only in the famous poets, historians, and 
orators of Greece, but also in the celebrated Chris- 
tian orators and expounders of the sacred oracles in 
the Greek church. " Would they restrict," he ex- 
claims, " that august Queen of the skies. Theolo- 
gy, to the precincts of one narrow track of learning, 
and not allow her freely to expatiate on the ample 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 83 

fields of knowledge; to visit the cells not only of a Cy- 
prian, a Jerome, an Augustine, an Ambrose, a Bede, 
but also theretreats of aNazianzen, aBasil,a Chry- 
sostom]" He endeavors to awaken his parent uni- 
versity to a sense of wliat she owes to the cause of 
Greek learning, by touching on a tender point— the 
progress already making in these studies in the 
rival University of Cambridge. He calls upon the 
good Warham, upon the Cardinal of York, " litera- 
rum pro motor , et ipse liter atissimus^'''' — a promoter of 
learning, and himself devoted to letters,* and last- 
ly upon the king, than whom no prince living has 
shown more erudition and a more cultivated mind. 
He concludes by earnestly exhorting the authorities 
of the university to exert their influence for the 
putting down of a faction so detrimental to the in- 
terests of learning, and so calculated to excite con- 
tempt and derision from without. " You are well 
aware," he adds, "how beneficial this exercise of 
your zeal will prove to the cause of letters, and how- 
grateful to our illustrious prince, and to the Right 
Reverend Fathers 1 have already named. And if, 

* The compliment here paid to the Cardinal is entirely me- 
rited. Independently of the colleges which he founded, there 
are other more convincing proofs of the active interest he took 
in the cause of education. An admirable letter of his, ad- 
dressed " To the masters of Ipswich School," contains a sylla- 
bus of a course of studies drawn up with great skill and pro- 
fessional minuteness. We give an extract, remarking that the 
air of royalty in its tone is characteristic. " We imagine no- 
body can be ignorant of the care, study and industry, with 
which we have directed our labors, not for our own private in- 
terest, but fortiiatof our country, and of all our citizens, whom 
we have very much at heart; and in which particular we 
shall deem ourselves to have been most amply repaid, if, by 
any divine blessing, we shall improve the minds of the people. 
But as it would be imperfect to erect a school, however magni- 
ficent, unless attended by learned masters, we have chosen 
approved teachers, under who-e tuition British youth may 
imbibe both morals and letters; well knowing, that the hopes 
of the country arise from their minds being formed aright." 
Wolsey personally superintended the instruciion of hisgodson, 
the Earl of Richmond. Henry's natural son; as also the domes- 
tic education of the Princess Mary. Well had it been for his 
fame, and for his future peace of mind, had he continued thus 
lo employ his talents, instead of wasting them on those mad 
schemes of ambition, which proved his ruin in the end! 



48 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

last and least, it might be permitted me to name 
myself, who have thus been induced to address you 
from the deep and heart-felt love that I bear to your- 
selves and to the cause of letters, I can only say, 
that you would bind me to you by a tenfold obliga- 
tion, and that, in return, to all and each of you I 
proffer my good oflices, in any manner that you can 
render them available. That God may prosper this 
your renowned university, and render it daily more 
flourishing in every virtue and every polite accom- 
plishment of arts and letters, is the prayer of 

THOMAS MORE, Knight. 
Abingdon, 4th April. 

To judge from the following circumstance, this 
letter was a favorite of More's; Stapleton informs, 
us that he gave it as an exercise to be translated 
into English by his class, and afterwards into 
Latin again: — a valuable exercise by the way. With 
respect to the dispute in question, we learn from 
Erasmus, that the king was induced to interpose in 
this aifair, and, to use his phrase, which is not flat- 
tering to the combatants, " silence was imposed on 
the rabble." 

1520. — Our knight continued daily to advance 
in the royal favor. He this year obtained a further 
promotion, being raised to the dignity of Treasurer 
of the exchequer, a station in some respects the 
same with that of our Chancellor of the exchequer, 
who, at present, is on his appointment to be desig- 
nated by the additional name of under-treasurer of 
the exchequer. 

During this year, Francis I. solicited an inter- 
view with Henry, and the neighborhood of the town 
of Ardres was selected for the place of meeting. 
Splendid preparations for the reception of the royal 
guests, were made on both sides, and on the 7th of 
June, the two monarchs met. They alighted from 
their horses, embraced each other, and walked arm 
and arm into the rich pavilion that had been pre- 
pared for their reception. More was the orator 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 85 

on this occasion, and addressed the brother mo- 
narchs in a speech, congratulating them on the 
happy meeting, and on their future prospects, of 
which he hailed it as the joyful omen. 

Erasmus writing to his friend Hutten, at this pe- 
riod, observes; "our friend More has been drawn 
into the palace, and the king will scarcely ever suf- 
fer the philosopher to quit him. For, if serious af- 
fairs are to be considered, who can give more pru- 
dent counsel? or, if the king's mind is to be relaxed 
by cheerful conversation, where could there be a 
more facetious companionr' 

Roper, who was an eye-witness of the circum- 
stances, relates them with an agreeable simplicity. 
" So from time to time was he by the king ad- 
vanced, continuing in his singular favor and trusty 
service for twenty years. A good part thereof used 
the king, upon holidays, when he had done his own 
devotion, to send for him; and there, sometimes in 
matters of astronomy, geometry, divinity, and such 
other faculties, and sometimes on his wordly af- 
fairs, to converse with him. And other whiles in 
the night would he have him up upon the leads, 
there to consider with him the diversities, courses, 
motions, and operations of the stars and planets. 
And because he was of a pleasant disposition, it 
pleased the king and queen, after the council had 
supped^ at the time of their own (z. e. the royal) sup- 
per, to call for him to be merry with them." What 
Roper adds could not have been discovered by a 
less near observer, and would scarcely be credited 
upon less authority: " When, then, he perceived 
so much in his talk to delight, that he could not 
once in a month get leave to go home to his wife 
and children (whose company he most desired,) he, 
much misliking this restraint on his liberty, began 
thereupon somewhat to dissemble his nature, and 
so by little and little from his former mirth to dis- 
use himself, that he was of them from thenceforth, 
at such seasons, no more so ordinarily sent for." 
To his retirement at Chelsea, however, the king 



86 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

followed him. " He used, of a particular ^ove, to 
come of a sudden to Chelsea, and leaning on his 
shoulder, to talk with him of secret counsel in his 
garden, yea, and to dine with him upon no invit- 
ing." The taste for More's conversation, and the 
eagerness for his company thus displayed, would 
be creditable to the king, if his behavior in after 
time had not converted them into the strongest 
proofs of utter depravity. Even in Henry's favor 
there was somewhat tyrannical, and his very 
friendship was dictatorial and self-willed. It 
was reserved for Henry afterwards to exhibit the 
singular, and perhaps solitary, example of a man 
who was softened by no recollection of a commu- 
nion of counsels, of studies, of amusements, of so- 
cial pleasures, and who did not consider that the 
remembrance of intimate friendship with such a 
man as More bound him to the observance of com- 
mon humanity, or even of bare justice. In the mo- 
ments of Henry's partiality, the sagacity of More 
was not so utterly blinded by his good-nature, that 
he did not in some degree penetrate into the true 
character of caresses from a beast of prey. " When 
I saw the king walking with him for an hour, hold- 
ing his arm about his neck, I rejoiced, and said to 
Sir Thomas, how happy he was whom the king 
had so familiarly entertained, as 1 had never seen him 
do to any one before, except Cardinal Wolsey. 'I 
thank our Lord, son,' said he, ' I find his Grace my 
very good lord indeed, and I believe he doth as sin- 
gularly favor me as any other subject within this 
realm: howbeit, son Roper, I may tell thee, I have 
no cause to be proud thereof; for if my head would 
win him a castle in France, when there was war 
between us, it should not fail to go.' " 

In a letter of this period, he thus speaks of him- 
self; " I am so occupied the greater part of the day, 
that I have no time for myself, or, which is the 
same thing, for my studies. For when I come home, 
I must chat with my wife, prattle with my chil- 
dren, and speak with my servants, for I am sure I 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 87 

have a right to reckon these things among my af- 
fairs; and needful affairs they are, unless one would 
be a stranger in one's own house. It is a part of 
the business of life to be affable and pleasing to 
those, w-hom either nature, chance, or choice has 
made our companions; and yet there must be a 
mean in this, as in every thing else, so that we 
do not spoil them with over-kindness, and by too 
p^reat indulgence convert our servants into masters. 
Well, whole days, months, and years, pass in this 
manner; and, now, pray when am 1 to find any time 
to write]" 

His conversation had become so entertaining to the 
king and queen, that he could rarely obtain permis- 
sion to spend an evening with his family; nor could 
he be absent from the court two days in succession 
without being called for. As yet, however, he had 
not so much of the courtier about hira, as to consi- 
der the claims of his family in this particular, as 
inferior to those of his sovereign. Restraining, 
therefore, the natural vivacity of his disposition, he 
contrived that his conversation in the royal presence, 
should become less and less attractive, and by this 
address he, in part, regained his liberty. 

Between the years 1517 and 1522, we find that 
More was employed at various times at Bruges, in 
missions like his first to the Flemish goternment, 
or at Calais in watching and conciliating Francis 
I., with whom Henry and Wolsey found it conve- 
nient to keep op friendly appearances. To trace the 
date of More's reluctant journeys in the course of 
the uninteresting attempts of politicians on both 
sides to gain or dupe each other, would be vain, 
without some outline of the negotiations in which 
he was employed, and repulsive to most readers if 
the inquiry promised a better chance of a successful 
result. Wolsey appears to have occasionally ap- 
pointed commissioners to conduct his own affairs 
as well as those of his master at Calais, w^herethey 
received instructions from London with the greatest 
rapidity, and whence it was easy to manage nego- 
tiations, and to shift them, speedily, with Brussels 



88 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

and Paris; with the additional advantage, that it 
might be somewhat easier to conceal from one of 
those jealous courts the secret dealings of that of 
England with the other, than if the despatches had 
been sent directly from London to the place of their 
destination. Of this commission More was once, at 
least, an unwilling member. Erasmus, in a letter 
to Peter Giles on the 15th of November, 1518, says, 
" More is still at Calais, of which he is heartily 
tired. He lives with great expense, and is engaged 
in business most odious to him. Such are the re- 
wards reserved by kings for their favorites."* Two 
years after. More writes more bitterly to Erasmus, 
of his own residence and occupations. " I approve 
your determination never to be involved in the busy 
trifling of princes; from which, as you love me, you 
must wish that 1 were extricated. You cannot ima- 
gine how painfully I feel myself plunged in them, 
for nothing can be more odious to me than this 
legation. I am here banished to a petty seaport, of 
which the air and the earth are equally disagreeable 
to me. Abhorrent as I am by nature from strife, 
even when it is profitable, as at home, you may 
judge how wearisome it is here, where it is attended 
by loss."f On More's journey in summer 1519, 
he had harbored hopes of being consoled by seeing 
Erasmus at Calais, for all the tiresome pageantry, 
selfish scuffles, and paltry frauds, which he was to 
witness at the congress of kings,:];: where More 
could find little to abate those splenetic views of 
courts, which his disappointed benevolence breathed 
in Utopia. In 1521, Woisey twice visited Calais 
during the residence of More, who appears to have 
then had a weight in council, and a place in the 
royal favor, second only to those of the cardinal. 
In 1522, the Emperor, Charles V. paid a visit to 



* Erasm. 0pp. iii. 357. 

■\ i;rasm. Opp. iii. 589. 

X Opp iii. 450, Moms Erasmo, e Cantuaria, 11 Jun. 1519. 
From ih(» dates of the foUowini; letters of Erasmus, it appears 
thai the hopes of More were disappointed. 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 89 

England, and was received by Henry with great 
magnificence. At about a mile from St. George's 
bar was erected a tent of cloth of gold, where, dur- 
ing the time the royal personages reposed them- 
selves. More delivered an oration, eloquently con- 
gratulating the two princes upon the love and 
amity that subsisted between them. Splendid pa- 
geants were prepared for the occasion; " nor must we 
forget," says the chronicler of the day, "how the 
citizens, well apparelled, stood within the rails on 
the left side of the streets, and the clergy on the 
right, in rich copes, swinging their censors beside 
the princes as they passed; nor how all the streets 
were richly hung with cloth of gold, silver, velvet, 
and arras; nor how in every house almost there was 
minstrelsy, and over every street these two verses 
in letters of gold: 

Carolus, Henricus, vivant defensor uterque, 
Henricus FiDEi, Carolus EccLESii?^:. 

In the meantime, the public mind was in a fer- 
ment. A new, and as yet unheard of revolution 
had broken out in the north of Germany, and had 
already begun to extend its influence in England. 
Men began to array themselves in the hostile ranks 
of Catholics and Lutherans; and, at length, a term 
was invented, which was destined to be the watch- 
word of party, the slogan for the gathering of dis- 
contented clans, the signal-fire, that, like the bea- 
con of Agamemnon,* was to speed its fiery course 
from hill to hill, but, unlike that transmitted flame, 
should announce not the termination of a ten years' 
war, but the outburst of a conflict, whose consum- 
mation, what prophet can foretell] Protestant is 
a nnm de guerre of more extended influence than any 
that human ingenuity had before devised. f 

* Seethe animated opening of the j3o-amem?iort of the Shaks- 
peare of Greece— iEschylus. 

t Bi hop Andrews was asked by King James T., whether the 
famous Italian convert, Antonio de Duinmis, were a Protestant 

8* 



90 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

Luther's motive for protesting originated in a mere 
matter of feeling about dollars and cents. Pope Leo 
X, with a view to raise money to complete that splen- 
did monument of art, St. Peter's, which his predeces- 
sor Julius IL, had begun, published an Indulgence,* 



or not? " Truly, your majesty," replied the Bishop, " I am un- 
able to say; but this I know, that he is a Detestant of certain 
opinions of Rome.'" 

To how many will not this definition apply, whose Prv)test- 
antism has " this extent, no more." 

* " It is reasonable, and even it is salutary to us, that God, 
whilst he remits both sin, and the temporal punishment, whii h 
sin had merited, should yet, byway of check, to restrain us 
within the boundaries ot duty, demand from us some kind of 
temporal chastisement; lest, emancipated too soon from the 
bo ids of justice we nourish a presumptuous confidence, and 
abuse the facility of obtaining pardon. 

" It is, consequently, in order to fulfil this obligation that we 
are subjected to a certain series of painful duties— duties, 
which, also, we are bound to comply with, in a spirit of deep 
humility, and contrition. It was the necessity of these labors 
of satisfaction that compelled the church, during the early 
ages, to impose upon sinners those heavy mortifications, which 
we call fJie Canonical penances. 

" l'» hen, therefore, now, the church imposes upon sinners any 
painful and laborious duties, the act of performing these, is 
what wo denominate Satisfaction. And when, in consequence 
of the extraordinary fervor, or piety, of the penitent, the 
church thinks proper to mitigate the severity of her discipline, 
this act of relaxation is the thing, which we term an Indulg- 
ence.'" — Bossuet's Exposition. 

1 Corinthians v. .1, 4, 5. In this passage, St. Paul excommu- 
nicates the man, who had been guilty of incest. But, in the 
second chapter of his second Epistle— having been now in- 
formed of the sorrow and repentance of the criminal — he tells 
the Corinthians, that he remits the punishment, which, lately, 
bis wisdom had deemed so salutary. Wherefore, he says, ] he- 
seech you, thatyou would confirm your charity towards him. Jind 
to whom you have forgiven any thing, I also For what I forgive, 
if I have forgive.'), any thing for your sakes, I have done it in the 
person of Christ. This mitigation by Saint Paa! is precisely 
what we mean by an indulgence. 

In like manner, during the e.irly ages of the church, it was 
the frequent practice among the bishops to grant, at the re- 
quest of the martyrs, a remission of the canonical penances to 
those individuals, whose repentance was marked by peculiar 
fervor. Tertullian, in the second century, &t. Cyprian in the 
third, and many Fathers, and Councils, in the fourth and fifth 
a^es, attest the frequency of this custom: whilst also they in- 
form us, that, sometimes, without any solicitation from the 
martyrs, it was observed in favor of the sick, and the infirm. 
This relaxation, again, was exactly our indulgence. 

The catholic is very far from denying, that indulgences have 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 91 

which included the northern provinces of Germany. 
The collecting- of the contributions was given to a 
Dominican friar, which excited tlie jealousy of the 
Augustine order, to which Luther belonged. He 
was a young man of ardent mind and strong- preju- 
dices, and he beheld with resentment the lucrative 
office bestowed upon the rival order — hinc illse la- 
cri/mas! hence, all the heart-burnings, generated by 
the esprit de corps, which alone was active at that 
moment in the young and enthusiastic friar. He 
published a thesis, seasoned with bold declamation 
against the rapacity of the court of Rome, but the 
main object of which was personal invective against 
the Dominican collectors, their avarice and their 
extortion. So far there appeared little for the church 
to apprehend. When the dispute was reported to Leo 
X., he treated it lightly, saying it was merely a 
squabble among friars. Even Luther, apprehensive 
of the offence he had given by his invectives against 
the court of Rome, thought it prudent to address a 
submissive letter to the pontiff, concluding in these 
words: " Wherefore, most holy father, I throw 
myself prostrate at your feet, with all that I have 



been abused. They have been abused very often, and very 
grossly: and we lament the evil more feelingly, than the pro- 
lesiaut derides it. But, after all, where is the, great room for 
wonder? For, what do not men abuse? 'i'hey abuse every 
thinaiaiid frequently, the best things the most. There is nothing 
here below, that is completely screened from the intrusion of 
the human passions. The mischiefs, however, that have re- 
sulted from indulgences, did not arise from the nature itself of 
the institution, but from the perversity and wickedness of the 
individuals, who misapplied, and the ignorance and supersti- 
tion of the men who misconceived them. An indulgence is not 
— as the protestani, imagines— an encouragement to sin. On 
the contrary, it implies, and presupposes, a sincere cunversion 
from sin; a real detestation of vice; and a fixed determination 
to avoid it, for the time to come It is not a dispensation from 
])enance:— it demands penance. i\ot an exemption from acts 
of piety:— it requires prayer, mortification, humility, &c. In 
short, just like the act of >->t. Paul to the incestuous Corinthian; 
or like that of the early pastors in favor of the sick, and the 
peculiarly penitent, an indulgence is simply a remission, or 
mitigation, of those temporal punishments, which the sinner 
still owes to the eternal justice, even after the forgiveness of 
the guilt of his offences. 



92 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

or own. My life and death are in your hands. Call 
or recall me, approve or condemn me as you please. 
I shall acknowledge your voice as the voice of 
Christ, who presides and speaks in your person." 
All eyes were now turned towards Luther; his posi- 
tion was conspicuous; he was recognised as the 
champion of a cause: he had poised his weapons, 
felt his strength, and was impelled to further ef- 
forts. It is hard for the com.batant to lay down the 
sword of power he has once taken up; the field of 
polemical warfare has rarely, if ever, exhibited its 
Washington. A zeal, in which vanity was no 
inactive ingredient, now seized on the young refor- 
mer, and from attacking the outworks of the church, 
he boldly ventured on the very sanctuary itself. 
He had been mildly admonished, but in vain; and, 
at length, in 1520, Pope Leo X published a bull in 
which he condemned as heretical certain opinions 
published in the writings of Luther; allowed him a 
reasonable time to retract his errors, and pronounced 
him excommunicated, if he continued obstinate 
after the expiration of that term. But success and 
impunity had taught the reformer to deride that au- 
thority, before which he had formerly trembled. He 
boldly appealed from the head of the church, whom 
he stigmatised as " the apostate, the antichrist, the 
blasphemer of the divine word," to a general coun- 
cil; and erecting a funeral pile without the walls of 
Wittemberg, and calling together the inhabitants, 
he, with much solemnity, cast into the flames the 
books of the canon law, the writings of his antago- 
nists, and the bull of Pope Leo against himself, 
exclaiming in a tone, which some have considered 
as the result of a diseased mind; — " Because ye have 
troubled the holy of the Lord, be ye burnt with 
everlasting fire!" 

But to return to More: if he had not the faculty 
of a seer, he had the eye of a philosophical 
observer, and in those " coming events that cast 
their shadows before," he saw the new con- 
vulsion that threatened the land. In announcing 
his presentiments, there is something very grand 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 93 

and solemn in the imagery he employs. " I per- 
ceive the signs of the coming evil, like as before 
a great storm the sea svi^elleth, and hath unwonted 
motions, vt^ithout any M^ind stirring." 

Taking one day his favorite walk upon the banks 
of the Thames, with his son-in-law Roper, they fell 
into conversation upon a topic dear to every pa- 
triot's heart— their country. Roper took occasion 
from a recent festivity, which had called forth a dis- 
play of public feeling, " to commend to his father- 
in-law, the happy estate of this realm, which had so 
Catholic and zealous a prince, that no heretic durst 
show his face; so learned and virtuous a clergy, so 
grave and sound a nobility, such loving and obedi- 
ent subjects, all agreeing together in one faith and 
dutifulness, as though they had been but one heart 
and one soul." 

When he paused, he found that More had fallen 
into one of his usual musings. After some mo- 
ments' silence, he turned to Roper, and pressing 
him by the arm, observed. — " My son. Roper, you 
speak the truth; true, indeed, is all that you say:" — ■ 
and passing in review the different estates of the 
realm, he far outdid his son-in-law in his commend- 
ations of the same; " and yet, son," continued he, 
" I pray God that some of us, as high as we seem to 
sit upon the mountains, treading under our feet like 
ants the enemies of the faith, live not to see the day 
when we would gladly wish to be in league with 
them, and to suifer them to have their churches 
quietly to themselves, so that they would be con- 
tent to let us have ours as peaceably." 

Roper urged many reasons to show why he 
thought his father-in-law had no cause for such 
gloomy forebodings. " Well, well," said More, 
shaking his head, " I pray God, Roper, that some 
of us do not live to see that day." But, says 
Cresacre, who relates the conversation, as he 
showed no reason for all these his speeches, my 
uncle said somewhat in a choler; " By my troth, 
sir, but all this is very desperately spoken!" " I cry 



94 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

God mercy," said my uncle to me afterwards, but 
that was the very word I used." Sir Thomas 
perceiving him to be somewhat angry, resumed 
his usual cheerful tone, and patting him on the 
shoulder, said to him in his merry way: " Well, 
well, son Roper, it shall not be so, it shall not be 
so!" 

But yet, adds Cresacre, my uncle Roper was 
himself destined to be a witness of the truth of the 
prediction. He was still living in the fifteenth year 
of Elizabeth's reign, when he saw religion turned 
topsy turvy, and no hope of any amendment. Tiie 
pious grandson, in the plenitude of his zeal, and 
from the depth of his reverence for More's charac- 
ter, goes on to declare, that "he has no doubt, but 
that God, in his love to his faithful servant, had 
been pleased to make him a partaker of some por- 
tion of his secrets." 

In the meantime, details of all that was passing 
in Germany were officially transmitted to England. 
Wolsey, who by his office of Legate of the Holy See, 
was bound to oppose these new doctrines, attended 
by the other prelates, and by the papal and impe- 
rial ambasadors, went in procession to St. Paul's; 
the venerable Bishop Fisher preached from the 
Cross in front of the church, and the works of 
Luther, condemned by the pontiff, were burned in 
presence of the assembled multitude. Henry, 
whose education, as we have seen, had given him 
a taste for school divinity, determined with that chi- 
valrous spirit which ennobled the earlier and better 
years of his life, to enter in person the controversial 
lists. This was in the month of May, and the fol- 
lowing October was completed " The Defence of 
the Seven Sacraments against Martin Luther, pub- 
lished by Henry, the eighth of that name, the most 
unconquered King of England and France, and 
Lord of Ireland," — a title that bears the impress of 
the chivalric age. It was published in London, 
1521, Antwerp, 1522, and Rome 154.3. That it 
was Henry's own composition is asserted by him- 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 95 

self: that it was retouched and improved by the 
cardinal and the bishop of Rochester was the opin- 
ion of the piiblic. More was also believed to have 
had a hand in the work, but we have his own assur- 
ance that he " was a mere sorter-out and placer of 
the principal contents of the book."* 

Clarke, dean of Windsor, carried the royal pro- 
duction to Rome, and, in a full consistory, submit- 
ted it to the inspection and approbation of the pon- 
tiff, with an assurance, that, as his master had 
refuted the errors of Luther with his pen, so was 
he ready to oppose the disciples of the heresiarch 
with his sword, should the interests of the church 
require it. Leo, in a formal bull, rewarded the 
champion of orthodoxy by conferring on him the 
title of Defender of the Faith — an appellation 
that Henry's successors still claim, though the title 
that guaranteed it has been abandoned. In July of 
the following year, Luther replied to the king 
" with an intemperance of declamation, which 
scandalised his friends, while it gave joy to his 
enemies;" so says the elegant Lingard: but which, 
in the vigorous but more homely language of Roper, 
becomes " a mass of ridicule, invective and scorn, 
compounded with a due admixture of filth, and 
hurled at the royal head." Henry complained to 
his patron, the Elector; the German princes consid- 
ered the work as an insult to crowned heads: and, at 
the earnest entreaty of Christian, King of Den- 
mark, Luther condescended to write an apology. 
Let us hear the impartial Mr. Hallam relate this 

* Old Fuller says in his quaint manner; " none susppct the 
king's lack of learning for such a design, but many his lack of 
leisure from his pleasures. It is probable that some other gar- 
deurr gathered the flowers, though King Henry had the honor 
to wear the posy." Luther made the same objection to the 
work, and yet the kings own words are; " although you fain 
yourself to think my book not my own. but to my rebuke (as 
it liketh you to affirm) put on by subtle sophisters: yet it is 
well known for mine, and for mine I avouch it." 

Collier, remarking on the king's work, observes, that "he 
leans too much on his character as monarch, argues in his gar- 
ter robes, and writes as it were with his seeptre." 



96 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

Story. " Luther, intoxicated with arrog'ance, and 
deeming himself a more prominent individual among 
the human species than any monarch, treated Hen- 
ry, in replying to his book, with the rudeness that 
characterized his temper. A few years afterwards, in- 
deed, he thought proper to write a letter of apology for 
the language he had held towards the king; but this 
letter, a strange medley of abjectness and imperti- 
nence, excited only contempt in Henry, and was 
published by him with a severe commentary. Lu- 
ther's letter bears date at Wittemberg, September I, 
1525. After saying that he had written against the 
king 'foolishly and precipitately,' which was true, 
he adds ' at the instigation of those who were but 
little disposed towards your majesty,' which was 
surely a pretence, since who at Wittemberg, in 
1521, could have any motive to wish that Henry 
should be so scurrilously treated] He then bursts 
forth into the most absurd attack on Wolsey, ' that 
monster, the public odium of God and of men, the 
Cardinal of York, the very pest of your kingdom.' 
This was a singular style to adopt in writing to a 
king, whom he affected to propitiate; Wolsey being 
nearer than any man to Henry's heart. Thence, 
relapsing into his tone of abasement, he says, " so 
that being now utterly ashamed that I should have 
suffered myself to have been betrayed into such lev- 
ity against such and so great a king, by malignant 
instruments like these, I dread to raise up my eyes 
before your majesty; I especially, who am but filth 
and the merest worm, fit for nothing but to be con- 
demned and despised by all, &c.' Among the many 
things which Luther said and wrote, I know not one 
more extravagant than this letter, which almost jus- 
tifies the supposition that there was a vein of insanity 
in his very remarkable character." (Constit. Hist. 1. 
64.) 

But though More had no hand in the book of 
the King his master, it was not likely that a mind of 
such activity as his, and so zealous for the faith of 
his fathers, would allow its powers to lie dormant 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 97 

on SO tempting an occasion for their display. 
We accordingly find that, early in the following- 
year, he published a reply to Luther's attack upon 
the King, under the title; Vindicatio Henrici VIII. 
a calumniis Lutheri. Cresacre's account of the af- 
fair is in his usual pithy manner. " As Luther had 
used nothing in his book but the figure of rhetoric 
called Sauce-malapert^ playing the very varlet with 
the King, More beat him with his own weapons. But 
as it seemed not correspondent to his gravity, the 
book appeared under the name of Gulielmus Rosseus.^^ 
In this nom de guerre, could More have had in his 
eye the popular French verb rosser, which Boisle 
interprets " battre quelqu* un violemment.^^ 

In this work. More, not content with refuting the 
arguments, has caught the reprehensible tone ofhis 
adversary; justifying the reproach of Bishop Atter- 
bury, that these two combatants had the best 
knack of any men in Europe at calling bad names in 
good Latin. There are men who can look on with 
pleasure at these spiritual gladiators, and enjoy the 
excitement of a controversial " set-to," and of this 
description appears to have been More's great-grand- 
son. Roper exclaims, with all the zest of the arena, 
" To see how he handleth Luther would do any man 
good!'''' (p. 110.); and to prove how the illustrious 
chancellor " punished" his adversary when he had. 
"got him into chancery," he^treatshis learned readers 
to a long Latin quotation of one of the most highly 
seasoned morceaux of the said Rejoinder.* 



* It M'ere well would the polfmic cliampion bear the follow- 
incr, inscribed as mottoes upon his shield. 

II faut inieux taiie une verite, que de la dire de mauvaise 
grace. 

Le silence judicieux est toiijours meilleur qu'une verite non 
charitable— Sa. Francis of Sales. 

If wedispute with the enemies of the faith, let us silence 
tbem without anger, and without harshness P'^or if wedispute 
wiih anger, we seem no longer to have confidence in our cause, 
but to be led by passion; but if we do so with gentleness, we 
manifest a true confidence. Where passion is, the Holy t?pirit 
dwelleth not.— St. Chrysostom, Hvm. in Ada. xvii. 

9 



98 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

To this year also Rastell refers More's " Treatise 
upon those words of Scripture Remember thy last end.) 
and thou shalt never sin.^'' It is a work of consider- 
able merit, and composed in More's most vigorous 
manner. For some considerable extracts the reader 
is referred to our volume of Selections. 

1523. — This year, by the King's especial direc- 
tion. Sir Thomas was chosen Speaker of the House 
of Commons. He excused himself, as usual, on 
the ground of alleged disability. His excuse was 
justly pronounced to be madmissible. The journals 
of parliament are lost, or at least have not been 
printed. The rolls of parliament exhibit only a 
short account of what occurred, which is necessarily 
an unsatisfactory substitute for the deficient journals. 
But as the matter personally concerns Sir Thomas 
More, and as the account of it given by his son-in- 
law, then an inmate in his house, agrees with the 
abridgment of the rolls, as far as the latter goes, it 
has been thought proper in this place to insert the 
very words of Roper's narrative. It may be reason- 
ably conjectured that the speeches of More were 
copied from his manuscript by his pious son-in- 
law. — " Since I perceive, most redoubted sovereign, 
that it standeth not with your pleasure to reform 
this election, and cause it to be changed, but have, 
by the mouth of the most reverend father in God, the 
legate, your highness's chancellor, thereunto given 
your most royal assent, and have of your benignity 
determined, far above that 1 may bear, to enable me, 
and for this office to repute me meet; rather than 
that you should seem to impute unto your Com- 
mons that they had unmeetly chosen, I am ready 
obediently to conform myself to the accomplish- 
ment of your Highness's pleasure and command- 
ment. — In most humble wise I beseech your 
Majesty that I may make to you two lowly 

An old writer says in his quaint manner: "Tfthe zeal for 
God's house eat up the man, it should not eat up the gentleman.'' 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 99 

petitions: the one privately concerning- myself, 
the other for the whole assembly of your Commons' 
house. For myself, most gracious sovereign, that 
if it mishap me in anything hereafter that is, on 
the behalf of your Commons, in your high pre- 
sence, to be declared, to mistake my message, and, 
in lack of good utterance, by my mishearsal to per- 
vert or impair their prudent instructions, that it may 
then like your most noble Majesty to give me leave 
to repair again unto the Commons' house, and to 
confer with them and take their advice what things 
I shall, on their behalf, utter and speak before your 
royal Grace. 

" Mine other humble request, most excellent 
Prince, is this: forasmuch as there be of your Com- 
mons here by your high commandment assembled 
for your parliament, a great number which are after 
the accustomed manner appointed in the Commons' 
house to treat and advise of the common affairs 
among themselves apart; and albeit, most dear liege 
lord, that according to your most prudent advice^ by 
your honorable writs every where declared, there 
hath been as due diligence used in sending up to 
your highness's court of parliament the most dis- 
creet persons out of every quarter that men could 
esteem meet thereunto; thereby it is not to be 
doubted but that there is a very substantial assem- 
bly of right wise, meet, and politique persons. Yet, 
victorious prince, since among so many wise men, 
neither is every man wise alike, nor among so many 
alike well-witted, nor yet well spoken; and as it 
often happeth that as much folly is uttered with 
painted polished speech, so many boisterous and 
rude in language give right substantial counsel; 
and since also in matters of great importance, the 
mind is often so occupied in the matter, that a man 
rather studieth what to say than how; by reason 
whereof the wisest man and best spoken in a whole 
country fortuneth, when his mind is fervent in the 
matter, somewhat to speak in such wise as he would 
afterwards wish to have been uttered otherwise, and 



100 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

yet no worse will had when he spake it, than he had 
when he would so gladly change it. Therefore, 
most gracious sovereign, considering that in your 
high court of parliament is nothing treated but mat- 
ter of weight and importance, concerning your realm 
and your own royal estate, it could not fail to put to 
silence from the giving of their advice and counsel 
many of your discreet Commons, to the great hind- 
rance of your common affairs, unless every one of 
your Commons were utterly discharged from all 
doubt and fear how any thing that it should happen 
them to speak, should happen of your highness to 
be taken. And in this point, though your well- 
known and proved benignity putteth every man in 
good hope; yet such is the weight of the matter, 
such is the reverend dread that the timorous hearts 
of your natural subjects conceive towards your 
highness, our most redoubted king and undoubted 
sovereign, that they cannot in this point find them- 
selves satisfied, except your gracious bounty there- 
in declared put away the scruple of their timorous 
minds, and put them out of doubt. It may, there- 
fore, like your most abundant Grace to give to all 
your Commons here assembled, your most gracious 
license and pardon freely, without doubt of your 
dreadful disp'leasare, every man to discharge his 
conscience, and boldly in every thing incident among 
us to declare his advice, and whatsoever happeneth 
any man to say, that it may like your noble majes- 
ty, of your inestimable goodness, to take all in good 
part, interpreting every man's words, how uncun- 
ningly soever they may be couched, to proceed yet of 
good zeal towards the profit of your realm, and honor 
of your royal person; the prosperous state and pre- 
servation whereof, most excellent sovereign, is the 
thing which we all, your majesty's humble loving 
subjects, according to the most bounden duty of our 
natural allegiance, most highly desire and pray for." 
According to the Parliamentary history, he intro- 
duced into his speech a story by way of illustration, 
which is certainly in his manner. He told of Phormio 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. lOl 

the philosopher, who invited the great Hannibal to 
attend one of his lectures. That great commander 
accepted the invitation, and Phormio commenced 
reading a treatise De Re Militare — on the art of war. 
Hannibal upon hearing this, called the philosopher 
an arragant fool, to presume to teach one, whom 
experience had made skilful in all the arts of war. 
Even so, said More, if I should presume to speak 
before his majesty of learning, of the well ordering 
of the government, and such like matters, the king 
who is so deepl}?- learned, such a master of prudence 
and experience, might well address me in the same 
language as Hannibal did Phormio. Wherefore, he 
humbly besought his majesty to choose another 
speaker. To this speech the cardinal, in quality of 
chancellor, replied:— That his majesty, by long expe- 
rience of his services, was well acquainted with his 
wit, learning, and discretion; and therefore he 
thought the Commons had chosen the fittest person 
to be their Speaker. 

It is probable that the design of the knight in 
this speech was to remonstrate against the known 
haughtiness with which Henry treated his parlia- 
ments; and, under color of the profoundest awe and 
veneration, to give the sovereign a reproof, the more 
keen because the less ostensible, for his arbitrary 
restraint on the freedom of debate. If the speech 
be considered in this point of view, the speaker will 
be found to manifest great dexterity and a tact pe- 
culiarly his own. A seeming compliance with 
Henry's haughty humor was, indeed, the only man- 
ner in which the king could be reproved with a hope 
of success. 

In Parliament, not only was his conduct upright, 
and manly, but his views more profound than those 
of his contemporaries, anticipating some of the 
principles of political economy developed in our 
day. On one occasion, a subsidy having been de- 
manded by government, for carrying on a war against 
the emperor, Charles V., the Commons allowed its 
expediency, but hesitated to grant it, on the ground 
9* 



103 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

that, as it must be paid in money, and not in goods, 
all the specie in their hands would be drained away, 
and, for want of money, the nation would soon re- 
lapse into barbarism. More, in reply, ridiculed this 
idea, and said that the money ought not to be con- 
sidered as lost or taken away, but only as passed into 
other hands of their kindred and nation. " You 
have no reason," added he, " to fear this penury or 
scarceness of money, the intercourse of things be- 
ing now so established throughout the world, that 
there must be a perpetual circulation of all that can 
be necessary for mankind. Thus your commodities 
will ever find out money: and not to go far, I will 
instance your own merchants only; who, let me as- 
sure you, will always be as glad of your corn and 
cattle, as you can be of any thing they can bring."* 

The following particulars, afforded us by Roper, 
are singular, and, according to Sir James Mackin- 
tosh, " not easily reconcilable with the intimate 
connection then subsisting between the speaker and 
the government." 

" At this parliament cardinal Wolsey found him- 
self much aggrieved with the burgesses thereof; for 
that nothing was so soon done or spoken therein, 
but that it was immediately blown abroad in every 
alehouse. It fortuned at that parliament that a very 
great subsidy was demanded, which the cardinal, 
fearing it would not pass the commons' house, deter- 
mined, for the furtherance thereof, to be there pre- 
sent himself. Before where coming, after long de- 
bating there, whether it was better but with a few 
of his lords, as the most opinion of the house was, 
or with his whole train royally to receive him; 
" Masters," quoth Sir Thomas More, " forasmuch 
as my lord cardinal lately, ye wot well, laid to our 
charge the lightness of our tongues for things utter- 
ed out of this house, it shall not in my mind be 
amiss to receive him with all his pomp, with his 
maces, his pillars, his pole-axes, his hat, and great 

* Herbert's Henry the FJ^hlh, p. 112- 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 103 

seal too; to the intent, that if he finds the like fault 
with us hereafter, we may the bolder frame ourselves 
to lay the blame on those whom his grace bringeth 
here with him."* Whereunto the house wholly 
ag-reeing-, he was received accordingly. Where, 
after he had by a solemn oration, by many reasons 
proved how necessary it was the demand then moved 
should be granted; and farther showed that less 
would not serve to maintain the prince's purpose; 
he seeing the company sitting still silent, and there- 
unto nothing answering, and, contrary to his expec- 
tation, showing in themselves towards his request 
no towardness of inclination, said to them, " Mas- 
ters, you have many wise and learned men amongst 
you, and since I am from the king's own person sent 
hither unto you, to the preservation of yourselves 
and of all the realm; I think it meet in you to give 
me some reasonable answer. Whereat every man 
holding his peace, then began he to speak to one Mas- 
ter Marney, afterwards lord Marney; "How say you,'' 
quoth he, " Master Marney]" who making him no 
answer neither, he severally asked the same ques- 
tion of divers others, accounted the wisest of the 
company, to whom, when none of them all would 
give so much as one word, having agreed before, as 
tiie custom was, to give answer by their speaker; 
"Masters," quoth the cardinal, "unless it be the 
manner of your house, as of likelihood it is, by the 
mouth of your speaker, whom you have chosen for 
trusty and wise (as indeed he is), in such cases to 
utter your minds, here is, without doubt, a marvel- 
lously obstinate silence:" and thereupon he required 
answer of Mr. Speaker; who first reverently, on 
his knees, excusing the silence of the house, abashed 

* We read the same indication of the public feeling in the Car- 
dinal's address to Dr. Barnes, who liad preached a sermon at 
Cambridge, reflecting upon his love of pomp and luxury. 
" What," said he, " ftlaster Doctor! had you not a sufficient scope 
in the scriptures to teach the people, but that my golden shoes, 
my pole-axes, my pillars, my golden cushions, my crosses, did 
so sore nifend you, that you must make us a ridiculum caput 
before the people?" 



104 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

at the presence of so noble a personage, able to 
amaze the wisest and best learned in the realma; nd 
then, by many probable arg;uments, proving- that for 
them to make answer was neither expedient nor 
agreeable with the ancient liberty of the house; in 
conclusion for himself, showed, that though they 
had all with their voices trusted him, yet except 
every one of them could put into his own head their 
several wits, he alone in so weighty a matter was 
unmeet to make his grace answer. Whereupon the 
cardinal, displeased with Sir Thomas More, that 
had not in this parliament in all things satisfied his 
desire, suddenly rose and departed."* 

This passage, observes Sir J. Mackintosh, de- 
serves attention as a specimen of the mild inde- 
pendence and quiet steadiness of More's character, 
and also as a proof how he perceived the strength 
which the commons had gained by the power of the 
purse, which was daily and silently growing, and 
which could be disturbed only by such an unseason- 
able show of an immature authority as might too 
soon have roused the crown to resistance. It is one 
among many instances of the progress of the influ- 
ence of parliaments in the midst of their apparently 
indiscriminate submission, and it affords a pregnant 
proof that we must not estimate the spirit of our 
forefathers by the humility of their demeanor. 

The reader will observe how nearly this example 
was followed by a succeeding speaker, compara- 
tively of no distinction, but in circumstances far 
more memorable, in the answer of Lenthall to 
Charles I,, when that unfortunate prince came to 
the house of commons to arrest five leading mem- 
bers of that assembly, who had incurred his displea- 
sure. 

When the short session of parliament was closed, 
Wolsey, in his gallery of Whitehall, said to More, 
" I wish to God you had been at Rome, Mr. More, 
when I made you speaker." — " Your grace not of- 

*Roper, p. 13— 21. 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 105 

fended, so would I too, my lord," replied sir Tho- 
mas; "for then should I have seen the place I long 
have desired to visit," More turned the conversa- 
tion, by saying- that he liked this gallery better than 
the cardinal's at Hampton Court. 

This perhaps broke off a quarrel for the time, but 
the fact was, as Erasmns remarks in one of his let- 
ters, that the cardinal was jealous of the knight's 
abilities, and feared him more than he loved him. 

Of this he shortly after gave a proof by his en- 
deavor to persuade the king to send Sir Thomas as 
ambassador to Spain. He tried to effect his pur- 
pose by magnifying the learning and wisdom of his 
rival, and his peculiar fitness for a conciliatory ad- 
justment of the difficult matters then at issue be- 
tween the king and his kinsman the emperor. 
Henry approved of the cardinal's suggestion, and 
made the proposal to More, who, considering the 
unsuitableness of the Spanish climate to his consti- 
tution, and perhaps suspecting Wolsey of sinister 
purposes, earnestly besought Henry not to send his 
faithful servant to his grave. The king who also 
suspected Wolsey of being actuated by jealousy, 
answered, " It is not our meaning, Mr. More, to do 
you any hurt; but to do you good we should be glad. 
We shall therefore employ you otherwise."* Sir 
Thomas More could boast that be had never asked 
the king the value of a penny for himself; and with- 
out any solicitation on his part, on the 25lh of De- 
cember, 1525, j" the king appointed him chancellor 
of the duchy of Lancaster, as successor of sir An- 

* Morft, p. 53, with a slight variation. 

t Sucli is the infornialioti which I have received from the 
Records in the Tower. The accurate writer of the article on 
More in the Biographia Britannica, is perplexed by finding Sir 
Thomas More, chancellor of the duchy, as one of the negotiators 
of a treaty iii August JSQG which seems to the writer in the Bio- 
graphia to bring down the death of Wingfied to near that time: 
he being on all sides acknowledsred to be More's immediate pre- 
decessor. But there is no difficulty, unless wente;llessly assume 
lliat the negotiation with which Wiiiglield was concerned relat- 
ed to the same treaty which More concludeij. On the contrary, 
the first appears to have been a treaty with Spain; the last a 
treaty with France —Sir J. Mcintosh. 



106 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

thony Wing-field; an office of dignity and profit 
which More continued to hold for nearly three years. 
That there was an unfriendly feeling- on the part 
of Wolsey towards More, is apparent from several 
little anecdotes, and among the rest from the fol- 
lowing, as related by Roper. 

On a time the cardinal had drawn a draft of cer- 
tain conditions of peace between England and 
France, and he asked Sir Thomas's advice therein, 
beseeching him earnestly that he would tell him, if 
there were any thing therein to be misliked; and 
" he spoke this so heartily," said Sir Thomas, that 
he verily believed the cardinal in earnest in v^'ishing 
to hear his advice therein. But when More gave 
his honest opinion, and showed that the draught 
might have been amended, he suddenly rose in a 
rage, and said; " By the Mass! thou art the 
veriest fool of all the council." Sir Thomas smiled, 
and drily rejoined; " God be thanked! that the 
king our master hath but one fool in all his council." 

This incident, perhaps, led to an allusion in More's 
book " On comfort in tribulation," where he relates 
a very amusing story of a certain prelate, who, 
when he had made an oration before a large assem- 
bly, would bluntly ask those who sat at table with 
him, " how they all liked if? and as he sat upon 
thorns for a commendation of his eloquence, the 
man who did not speak of it as favourably as he 
could wish, got, you may be sure, bat little thanks 
for his labor."* 

More had the courage, on more than one occasion, 
to oppose the haughty cardinal at the Council board, 
as he had formerly done in Parliament. To one of 
these occasions we may no doubt refer the story 
which Sir Thomas tells in one of his letters, relative 
to the cardinal's project that England should sup- 
port the Emperor in his war with France. "aSottic," 
he writes, "thought it wise, that we should sit still 

* This story is told in full in More's works, p. 1221, and as a 
fair specimen of his humor, will be given entire in the volume 
o{ Selections. 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 107 

and leave them alone. But, evermore, my lord 
used the fable of the wise men; who, because they 
would not sit out and get drenched in the rain that 
was to make every one a fool, hid themselves in 
caves. But when the rain had washed away the 
others' wisdom, and those came out of their caves, 
and would make a display of theirs, the fools agree- 
ing together against them, proved too strong for 
them, and forced them to come into their terms. 
And so, said his grace, if we w^ere to be so wise as 
to sit in peace, while the fools fought it out, they 
would afterwards make common cause and subdue 
us. This fable, adds More, helped the king and 
the realm to spend many a fair penny." 

And yet, in spite of this occasional " sparring," it 
is satisfactory to be able to produce evidence that 
there existed neither that rancor on the part of More, 
nor that " secret brooding over his revenge," which 
Sir J. Maskintosh thought he discovered in the 
conduct of those great men. {Brit. States, ^p. 39.) 
Thistestimony is afforded us by that invaluable 
publication, " The State Papers," which we shall 
often have occasion to quote. 

Wolsey to King Henry VIII. 

Sire: — After my most humble recommenda- 
tions, it may like your Grace to understand, that I 
have shown unto the bearer of this. Sir Thomas 
More, diverse matters to be by him, on my behalf, 
declared unto your Highness, beseeching the same 
that, at convenient time, it may be your pleasure to 
hear him make report thereof accordingly. And, 
Sire, whereas it hath been customed that the Speak- 
ers of the Parliament, in consideration of their dili- 
gence and pains taken, have had, though the Par- 
liament hath been right soon finished, above the 
dElOO ordinary, a reward of £100, for the better 
maintenance of their household, and other charges 
sustained in the same; I suppose. Sire, that the 
faithful diligence of the said Sir Thomas More, in all 
your causes treated in this your late Parliament, as 



108 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

well for your subsidy, right honorably passed, as 
otherwise, considered, no man could better deserve 
the same than he hath done. Wherefore, your 
pleasure known therein, I shall cause the same to 
be advanced to him accordingly; ascertaining your 
Grace, that I was the rather moved to put your 
Highness in remembrance thereof, because he is not 
the most ready to speak and solicit his own cause. 
At your manor of Hampton Court, the 24th day 
of August, by your most humble chaplain 

{Superscribed) T. CAR^i* EBOR. 

To the King^s most noble Grace, Defender of the Faith, 

In a reply from More to the cardinal, of the 26th, 
we have the following pleasing acknowledgment 
of the same. 

" Furthermore, it may like your good Grace to un- 
derstand, that, at the contemplation of your Grace's 
letters, the king's Highness is graciously content, 
that, besides the hundred pounds for my fee for the 
office of speaker of his Parliament, to be taken at 
the receipt of his Exchequer, I shall have one other 
hundred pounds out of his coffers, by the hands of 
the treasurer of his chamber. Wherefore, in most 
humble wise, I beseech your good Grace, that, as 
your gracious favor hath obtained it for me, so it 
may like the same to write to Mr. Wyatt, that he 
may deliver it to such as I shall send for it: whereby, 
I and all men, as the manifold goodness of your 
Grace hath already bound us, shall be daily more 
and more bounden to pray for your Grace, whom 
Our Lord long preserve in honor and health. At 
Easthamstead, the 26th day of August." {State 
Papers, vol. i. 127.) 

As our subject has now brought More in contact 
with one of the most remarkable men of his age, 
the reader will naturally look for some particulars 
respecting him. The portrait of Cardinal Wolsey, 
as sketched by the rapid and graphic pencil of 
Lloyd, is so true to the life, that we cannot better 
terminate the present chapter than by presenting it 
to the reader. 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 109 

" Wolsey made the first essay of his powers in 
commanding over noblemen, in the Earl of Dorset's 
family, as a school-master. The first step to great- 
ness in a scholar, is relation to a nobleman; the 
best education for the court, is in the palace. Na- 
ture had made him capable, the school and univer- 
sity made him a scholar, but his noble employment 
made him a man. At Oxford, he read books; at my 
lord's he read men, and observed things. The 
two parsonages bestowed upon him by his patron, 
were not so valuable to him as the excellent prin- 
ciples instilled into him; he being not more careful 
to instruct the young men, than their noble father 
to tutor him: his bounty made him rich, and his 
recommendation potent. Bishop Fox was secretary 
to King Henry VII., and Wolsey to Bishop Fox; 
the one was not a greater favorite of the king than 
the other, as one brought him a head capacious of 
all observations, and a spirit above all difficulties. 
Others managed the affairs of England, Wolsey 
understood its interests. His correspondence was 
active abroad; his observations close, deep, and un- 
remitting at home. He improved what he knew, 
and bought what he knew not. He could make 
any thing he read or heard his own, and could im- 
prove anything that was his own to the uttermost. 

"No sooner was he in with the Bishop of Win- 
chester, than the Bishop was out with the Earl of 
Surrey; to whom he must have stooped, as he did 
to nature and art, had he not raised his servant equal 
to himself in the king's favor, and above Howard. 
By the canons he was forbid heirs of his body; by 
his prudence he was enjoined to make an heir of 
his favor, equally to support and comfort his old 
age, and maintain his interest. Children in point 
of policy, as in point of nature, are a blessing, and 
as arrows in the hand of the mighty; and happy is 
that old courtier, who hath his quiver full of them: 
he shall not be ashamed when he speaks with his 
enemies in the gate. The old man commends 
Wolsey to Henry VIL, as one fit to serve a king, 
10 



no SIR THOMAS MORE, 

and command others. Foreign employment is the 
statesman's first school; to France, therefore, is he 
sent, to poise his English gravity with the French 
debonnaire: a well-poised quickness is tiie excel- 
lent temper. From foreign employments under 
an old king, he came home to some domestic ser- 
vices under the young one: as quickly as he found 
the length of his foot, did he fit him with an easy 
shoe. The king followed his pleasures, and the 
minister enjoyed his power. The one pursued his 
sports, while youth, the other his business, while 
time served him. ' Give me to-day, and take thou 
to-morrow,' is the language as well of the courtier, 
as the Christian. The favorite took in the debates 
of the council and other state affairs in the bulk, 
by day; and the king had the quintessence of them 
extracted, and presented to him at night. All state 
business was disposed of by him, and most church 
preferments bestowed upon him: the Bishoprics of 
Durham, Winchester, and York, were in his pos- 
session, and all other promotions in his gift. He 
was installed in the kingdom, during King Henry's 
youth, and had the church in commendam. His 
great services, indeed, could not be managed, nor 
his greater power supported, without a great re- 
venue; but his interest went far, and his money 
farther, and he could buy off expedients as readily 
as his greatness could command them. He had 
two rivals, the Duke of Buckingham, and the Duke 
of Suffolk: the former he despised as rather beside, 
than against him; he being the king's companion 
in pleasure, and Wolsey his counsellor in policy; 
the duke great with young Henry, the bishop with, 
the king. Buckingham he feared, as popular, and 
undermined, as proud: that tower must fall, whose 
foundation is hollow. Buckingham was high in 
birth, honor, and estate; Vv^olsey higher in prudence. 
The minister's malice did the brave duke much 
mischief, and his own folly more: vain glory ever 
lieth at an open guard, and gives much advantage 
of play to her enemy. A king is jealous, and a 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. Ill 

weak nobleman ambitious. In fine, he is attainted 
of treason (though rival to the king- in his clothes, 
rather than his crown, in his vanities than his au- 
thority): but a cunning upstart will quickly blow 
off a young nobleman's cap and feather, and his 
head too, when it stands in the way. His power 
against Buckingham, was his shield against all 
others. One defence well managed, one adversary 
thoroughly suppressed, is a security at court, where 
two men seldom fall the same way. 

" Many envied the archbishop, the cardinal, the 
legate de latere, the Lord Chancellor: but all feared 
the favorite. Most were discontented, but none 
durst shake their heads, lest they should fall off as 
Buckingham's had done. He was too proud to be 
bribed, and too powerful to be overborne. 

" But England was too narrow a theatre for this 
great spirit, and he aspires to Rome: and having 
been these many years Pope of this other world, 
would have been of that beyond the waters. This 
leap was great from York to Rome, and his rise for 
the leap as good; Charles V. was his client, and 
his master's servant; the cardinals were his pen- 
sioners: and when they failed (as he is no fox, 
whose den hath but one hole, and he no statesman, 
who, when one way is stopped, cuts not out an- 
other,) he falls off from the German Emperor to the 
French king, with whom, if he would not carry 
his own design, he would hinder the emperor's — 
and revenge is an advancement. So great was he, 
that his influence balanced Europe, overawed em- 
perors, threatened kings, and was fatal to queens: 
if he cannot be Pope of Rome, he will show he is 
as good as King of England. Finding that the king 
wanted a meet yoke-fellow, and a lawful heir male 
to his crown; and observing Queen Catherine's age 
above her husband's, and her gravity above her age, 
being more pious than pleasant, a better woman 
than wife, and a better wife for any prince, than 
for King Henry; upon some scruple, intimated by 
the Spaniard some years before, which others had 



112 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

forgot, but the cardinal kept laid up, he promotes a 
divorce between the king and queen. Nor was this 
all; knowing that King Henry would not have the 
woman to his mind, till he had a Pope of his own 
choosing, he would help him to a young wife, but 
he must raise him to a new power; Wolsey must 
be Pope, or King Henry could not be divorced. 
And to make all sure, no sooner was he parted from 
a daughter of Spain, than he was to be joined to a 
Princess of France, whose nuptial ring was to wed 
King Henry to her, and King Francis to himself. 

" Missing of power, he meditates honor; and in- 
stead of lavishing his infinite treasure upon airy 
expectations, he bestoweth it in real monuments, 
which make his memory as renowned, as was his 
life. That statesman lives to little purpose, whose 
actions are as short as his life, and whose exploits 
are of no longer duration than the age in which he 
lives. 

" While the king bore the sword of state, the 
cardinal wielded it over all the land, in his quality 
of legate; by virtue whereof he visited all churches 
and religious houses, even the Friars' observants 
themselves, notwithstanding the stoutness and stub- 
bornness with which they first opposed him. Papal 
and royal power met in him, being Chancellor of 
the land, and keeping so many bishoprics in com- 
mendam^ that his yearly income is said to have 
equalled that of the crown. He gave the first blow 
to religious houses, by making one great college 
out of forty small monasteries. Besides sending 
him on many splendid embassies, the king gave 
him many estates and magnificent palaces; fitting 
his humor with pleasant habitations and soothing 
his ambition with power and authority. 

" But his sovereign broke with him at last, 
about the divorce, being vexed with so many de- 
lays and prorogations between two popes, Clement 
that was, and Wolsey that would be. Yet he 
rather eased him of his burthens, than deprived him 
of his preferments; continuing him Bishop of York 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 113 

and Durham, after dismissing him from the Chan- 
cellorship. Here he lived rather like a prince 
than a priest, providing as magnificently for his 
installation, as a king should for his coronation. 
This unreasonable ambition was improved by his 
enemy's malice, and the king's jealousy to his ruin. 
In the midst of his solemnities he is arrested by 
the king's order, whose wrath was the messenger 
of death; and on his way to London, being distracted 
between hope and fear, he died at Leicester, breath- 
ing out his soul in words to this purpose: ' Had I 
served the God of heaven, as faithfully as I have my 
master on earth, he would not thus have forsaken 
me in m.y old age.' Too sudden prosperity in 
the beginning, undoeth us in the end; while we 
expect the same flow of fortune, we remit our care, 
and perish by our neglect. Ambition reaches too 
high, and loses its proper support — humility; for 
the broader the base, the higher and stronger the 
pyramid. Ego et rex mens was good grammar for 
Wolsey the school-master, but not for the cardinal 
and the statesman. Wolsey is famous for two 
things — that he never spoke a word too much, and 
but one too little." — Lloyd^s Worthies^ p. 46, 1650. 
At the period of More's history to which we have 
arrived, Wolsey had reached the highest pinnacle of 
power and glory to which a subject could aspire, 
and infinitely beyond that to which any subject in 
England had before attained. He was Archbishop of 
York, Bishop of Durham, Abbot of St. Alban's, 
Cardinal Legate a latere for life. Lord Chancellor 
of England, Prime Minister, Lord Keeper of the 
privy purse to the king, and Grand Almoner to the 
queen. And yet there was a still higher honor 
to which he had long aspired, and which would 
have placed him on a level with the potentates of 
the earth. But this very year witnessed his dis- 
appointment; on the 19th of November, 1524, his 
rival, Julio de Medici, was elected to the Popedom, 
by the unanimous voices of the conclave, under the 
title of Clement the Seventh. Desirous to secure 
10* 



114 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

the faith and affection of the English king, he early 
despatched an ambassador to London, who was the 
bearer of a magnificent present, which the chroni- 
clers vie with one another in describing. It was 
a consecrated rose, sent as a token to the king, and 
delivered to him after a solemn mass sung by the 
cardinal, on the festival of the Nativity of the 
Blessed Virgin. It is described as a tree of fair 
gold, v/rought with branches, leaves, and flowers, 
in imitation of roses. It grew in a pot of gold, 
having gold dust instead of earth, and was sup- 
ported on an antique tripod of classic workmanship. 
The top rose was encircled by a sparkling sapphire 
loop, and the tree itself was about half a yard in 
height, and a foot in breadth. Fond as Henry was 
of magnificence, he was greatly flattered by this 
present — a feeling which was increased by the 
pope's sending him a confirmation of his title of 
Defender of the Faith. To Wolsey was sent a 
valuable ring, which the pontiff" took from his own 
hand, regretting that he could not himself have the 
satisfaction of placing it on the finger of his emi- 
nence. 

When we consider these demonstrations of ex- 
treme cordiality and afifection, and also take into 
account the jealousy with which the cardinal and 
his royal master regarded the progress of Luther's 
opinions, which, about this time had begun to in- 
fect the universities, and make an impression upon 
the people, nothing could appear more improbable, 
as far as human calculation is concerned, than that 
sudden and extraordinary revolution, which was so 
soon to change the destinies of England. 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 115 



CHAPTER V. 
1525—1529. iSTAT. 50. 

THE DIVORCE — THE MISSION TO FRANCE- — MORE AS A 
CONTROVERSIALIST — THE SWEATING SICKNESS — 
EMBASSY TO THE NETHERLANDS. 

Origin and progress of the Divorce— More appointed Chancel- 
lor of the Duchy of Lancaster — Wolsey's mission to France, 
the secret object of which is the promotion of tlie divorce- 
More accompanies Wolseyin his journey — Description of the 
cavalcade and the cardinal's magnificence— His interview 
with Archbishop Warham and Bishop Fisher— His reception 
at Canterbury — His instructions to his attendants on reachifig 
Calais— His reception at Ami6ais by Francis the First— More 
and the rest of the suite introduced to the royal party — More 
returns with Wolsey to London — Devotes himself to contro- 
versy — His motives for so doing — Refutation of Tindall — 
Anecdotes— England visited by the Sweating Sickness— Its 
salutary effect upon the mind of the king — Anne Boleyn is 
sent from the court— The cardinal makes his will— Henry 
follows his example — The sickness attacks the family of 
More— His daughter Margaret in danger, and restored by the 
prayers of her father — The sickness ceases — Anne recalled 
to court — More proceeds on an embassy to the Netherlands — 
Anecdote— Family disaster on More's return— His letter to 
his wife on the occasion. 

As More's future hi&tory is closely connected 
with that disgraceful page in the English annals, 
the divorce of Henry the Eighth, it will, in passing, 
be necessary to glance at its progress. VVith the 
full and masterly exposure of this revolting affair in 
the pages of Dr. Lingard, the reader is no doubt 
familiar; it is a subject on which he has displayed 
even more than his ordinary keenness of research. 
We shall content ourselves with a simple reference 
to documents, and particularly to the new and in- 
teresting materials afforded by the publication of 
the " State Papers." 



116 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

"Henry's licentious passions", we quote Sir J. 
Mackintosh, " by a sing^ular operation, recalled his 
mind to his theological studies, and especially to 
the question relating to the papal power of dispen- 
sing with the Levitical law, which must have 
been the subject of conversation at the time of his 
unusual, if not unprecedented, espousal of his bro- 
ther's widow. Scruples, at which he had once 
cursorily glanced as themes of discussion, now 
borrowed life and warmth from his passions. In 
the course of examining the question, his assent 
was likely at last to be allured into the service of 
desire. The question was, in itself, easily dispu- 
table:, it was one on which honest and skilful men 
differed; and it presented, to say the least, ample 
scope for self-delusion. His nature was more de- 
praved than lawless (if that word may be so used;) 
and it is possible that his passion might have yielded 
to other obstacles, if he had not at length persuaded 
himself, that, by means of a divorce, his gratifi- 
cation might be reconciled with the letter of the 
law. His conduct has the marks of that union of 
confidence and formality often observed in men, 
whose immorality receives treacherous aid from a 
mistaken conscience." 

Henry was aware that some objections had been 
formerly raised to his marriage with Catharine: but 
the question had been set at rest by the unanimous 
decision of his council; and nearly twenty years 
had elapsed without a suspicion of the lawfulness 
of their union. But, all of a sudden, the king was 
induced to reconsider this subject; a scruple of 
conscience came over the royal mind; it was fright- 
ful to think that he might be living- in a state of 
incest with the relict of his brother.* Tremblingly 
alive to these delicate apprehensions, he opened his 



* O my Wolsfty, 
Would it not grieve a husband's heart to leave 
So virtuous a spouse? But, conscience, conscience! — 
O, 'tis a tender place! and— I must leave her. 

Shakgfea r 15. — Hen ry VTJI. 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 117 

heart to Wolsey and others, from whom he was 
sure of receiving sound and wholesome advice. 
But does not the most unsuspicious of readers feel 
inchned to wonder at this sudden chang-e in the 
royal mindl and to think it no sin to question the 
entire purity of Henry's motives'? — The following 
facts may furnish him with some solution to the 
king's misgivings of conscience. 

In the service of the queen, and acting in capacity 
of one of her maids of honor, was a young lady of 
good family, remarkable for her accomplishments, 
and for the beauty of her person. Anne Boleyn had 
resided for several years in France, and had con- 
tracted many of the fashionable graces, not to say 
coquettishairs, of the French capital. These allure- 
ments were destined to prove fatal to Henry's 
honor as a husband and to his faith as a Catholic* 
The precise date of his adulterous attachment to 
Anne Boleyn is not well ascertained; but the fol- 
lowing items will serve as tolerably correct data. 

In 1525, when she filled the situation of one of 
the maids of honor to Queen Catherine, Percy, 
son to the Earl of Northumberland, made her an 
offer of marriage, and was-- received as a suitor. 
Wolsey was ordered to separate the lovers; and 
Northumberland, having severely chided the pre- 
sumption of his son, compelled him to marry Mary, 
a daughter of the Earl of Shrewsbury. This was 
probably the first hint that Anne received of the 
impression she had made on the king's heart: a 
valuable present of jewels revealed to her more 
fully the influence of her charms, to which she 
might also attribute the elevation of her father to 
the rank of Viscount Rochford.]- There also passed 



* It seeins the marriage with his brother's wife 
Has crept too near his conscience.— A^o, his conscience 
Has crept too near another lady. 

Shakspeare— ^ewry VITT 
t In IVicholass " Privy Purse Expenses of Henry VIII," are 
found ihe following curious entries of presents from the mo- 
narch to his mistress; 
15-28. Purple velvet, and stuff for the use of Anne Boleyn. in 



118 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

an active correspondence between the virtuous dam- 
sel and her married lover, and the admirers of such 
reading have lately been entertained by their pub- 
lication.* 

"Wolsey's ruling passion was state-intrigue, and 
his eye was immediately turned to the political 
consequences that would follow a divorce. Catha- 
rine once out of the way, he might bring about an 
alliance between Henry and the daughter of the 
French king, and this would favor the great ob- 
ject of his ambition, the elevation to the Papal 
throne. Imagine, therefore, his vexation and dis- 
appointment, when the astounding fact came to his 
knowledge of Henry's passion for Anne. He saw 
at a glance the power which the Boleyns and 
their connection would acquire, by the elevation 
of their young and beautiful relative. He threw 
himself on his knees before the king, and ear- 
nestly entreated him to desist from a purpose so 
unworthy of his birth. But a few moments' re- 
flection upon the temper of his impetuous master, 
made him hasten to atone for the indiscretion into 
which he had suffered himself to be betrayed. He 
at once became a convert to a measure which 
he could not avert, and labored by redoubled 

December of the same year, 1801. in money, no trifle at that 
period. 

1529. In April, her servant receives a recompense for finding 
a hare; and, in May, the tailor and skinner are paid for her 
dresses. Another entry mentions bows and arrows pnrchased 
for her. In November, twenty yards of crimson satin are sent 
her; in December eight guineas for badger-skins, or furs; on the 
21st of the same month, twenty shillings in silver; the follow- 
ing day, fine linen for her person, accompanied by five pounds. 
On the'i.Sd, five pounds more; on the 30th one hundred pounds 
as a New year's gift, &c. 

* It is a curious fact, that the autographs of these letters 
found their way to Rome, where they are still preserved among 
the MSS. of the Vatican. They were transcribed a few years 
since, and published in a number of the " Pamphleteer." A 
learned historian, the professed admirer and apologist of Henry 
VIII, has commented on these letters with a gravity, that sin- 
gularly contrasts with the revolting character of the subject. 
His devotion to the royal writer blinds him altogether to those 
indelicacies in these letters which have shocked the sensi- 
bilities of Dr Lingard and others.— See Sharon Turner's ^js<. 
of Henry Fill. 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 1 19 

activity and zeal to atone for the crime of having 
dared to dispute the pleasure of his sovereign. 

Knowing that More had given much of his atten- 
tion to theological studies, it is natural to conjecture 
that the king vi^ould be anxious for his opinion on 
his " secret matter," as it vi^as termed. The first 
revealings of this affair made to Sir Thomas are 
found in one of his letters to Cromwell. We will 
quote a part. 

" Upon a time, at my coming from beyond sea 
[from the embassy to the Netherlands,] I repaired as 
my duty was, to the king's grace, who was at that 
time at Hampton Court. While walking in the 
gallery with me, his highness suddenly brake with 
me on his great matter; and showed me, that it was 
now perceived, that his marriage was not only 
against the positive laws of the church and the 
written law of God, but also so far against 
the law of nature, that it could in no wise by the 
church be dispensable.* Now so it was, that be- 
fore my going over the sea, I had heard certain 
things moved against the bull of the dispensation, 
concerning the words in the Levitical law to prove 
the prohibition to be de jure divino. But yet, I 
thought at that time, that the greater hope of the 
matter stood in certain faults which were found 
in the bull, whereby the bull could not by law 
be sufficient. And such comfort was there in 
that point (as far as I perceived,) for a good season, 
that the counsel on the other side were fain to bring 
forth a brief, by which they pretended those defaults 
to be supplied. The truth of which brief was by 
the king's counsel suspected, and much diligence 
was afterwards used for the trial of that point. 
Wherein what was finally found, either I never 
knew, or else I remember not. 

"I rehearse you this, to the. intent you should 
know, that the first time I ever heard that point 

* Cresacre tells ns that a Dr. Stokely " found out this quirk," 
which proved a profitable one to him, as Henry afterwards 
gave him the bishopric of London. 



120 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

moved, was, as I began to tell you, when the king's 
grace laid the Bible open before me, and read the 
words which moved his highness and divers other 
erudite persons so to think; and he asked me farther, 
what I myself thought thereon. At which time, 
not presuming to think that his highness would 
take that point as proved to my poor mind, in so 
great a matter, I nevertheless showed, as my duty 
was at his command, what I thought upon the 
words which I then read. Whereupon his highness 
accepting benignly my sudden unadvised answer, 
commanded me to commune further with Bishop 
Fox, now his grace's almoner, and to read with 
him a book which then was in making on that 
matter. 

"After which book read, and my poor opinion 
declared unto his highness thereon, like a prudent 
prince he assembled a good number of very well 
learned men, at Hampton Court. I heard that they 
agreed upon a certain form in which the book 
should he made, which was afterwards read at 
York place, in my lord Cardinal's chamber, in pre- 
sence of diverse bishops, and many learned men." 

Towards the close of this year died Sir Richard 
Wingfield, Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster, 
an important appointment under the crown; and the 
king, without any solicitation, bestowed the vacant 
office upon Sir Thomas. 

1527. In the summer of this year, Wolsey pro- 
ceeded on his magnificent embassy to France, in 
which More and other officers of state were joined 
with him. The ostensible purpose of this mission 
was to conclude a treaty for the deliverance of 
Pope Clement VII., from captivity, and his resto- 
ration to the possessions of the church; but the 
secret object was to pave the way for the divorce. 
More, fortunately for him, was not made the de- 
positary of this state secret. 

Both Wolsey in his letters to the king, and his 
faithful secretary Cavendish have left us journals 
of this mission. We shall select from them such 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 121 

items as will interest the reader, both as presenting 
pictures of the manners of the ag-e, and as enabling- 
him to trace the progress of that question, which 
involves so much of moment— the divorce. 

June 18. In the instructions given by the king- to 
Wolsey, relative to the mission, not a hint is dropped 
respecting the secret object of the journey. But 
we learn from a letter of Wolsey in reply to a mes- 
sage from the king, that something has transpired 
relative to the " secret matter," and that Henr)?- sus- 
pects Wolsey of disaffection, or, at all events, of in- 
discretion in regard to this delicate affair.* It is to 
be regretted that the letter is in a mutilated state; 
we will quote a part. " The message sent unto 
me this morning (.Tuly 1st) hath not a little troubled 
my mind, considering that your Highness should 
think or conjecture, upon such message as I sent 
unto your Highness by Master Sampson, that I 
should either doubt, or should abate in my zeal for 
your secret matter. For I take God to record, that 
there is nothing earthly that I covet so much, as the 
advancing thereof; not doubting, for any thing that 
I have heard in regard that this overture hath come to 
the queen's knowledge . . . than 1 have done before; 
and when he showed me that the queen was very 
stiff and obstinate; and that she desired counsel as 
well of your subjects as of strangers, I said, this 
device could never come of her, but of some that 
were learned; and these were the worst points that 
could be imagined, for the impeaching [hindering] of 
the matter: for . . . that she could resort to the coun- 
sel of strangers, or . . . she intended to make coun- 
sel of all the world, France except, as a party against 
it; wherefore, I think it convenient, till it were 
known what should succeed of the pope, and to 

^scHYLUS, Prometheus. 

'Tis a foul canker inbred in the heart 

Ot tyrants, to mistrust the friends who serve them. w. 

11 



122 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

what point the French king might be brought, 
yonr Grace should handle her both gently and 
doacely. At the reverence of God, sire, and most 
humbly prostrate at your feet, I beseech your Grace,- 
whatsoever report shall be made unto the same, to 
conceive no opinion of me, but that in this matter, 
and in all other things that may touch your honor 
and surety, 1 shall be as constant as any living crea- 
creature; not letting [relinquishing] for any danger, 
obloquy, displeasure, or persecution; yea, and if all 
fail and swerve, your Highness shall find me fast 
and constant, according to my most bounden duty; 
praying our Lord to preserve your most noble and 
royal estate, giving unto the same the accomplish- 
ment of your desires, to the attaining whereof I 
shall strike with your Highness usque ad mortem. 
At my palace beside Westminster, the first day 
of July, by your most humble chaplain. 

T. CAR>i= EBOR. 

July 3d. — Cavendish thus describes the first 
movements of the journey. " Then marched my 
lord cardinal forward out of his house at Westmin- 
ster, passing through all London, over London 
Bridge, having before him of gentlemen a great 
number, three in a rank, in black velvet livery 
coats, and the most part of them with great chains 
of gold about their necks. And all his yeomen, 
with noblemen's and gentlemen's servants followed 
him, in French tawny livery coats; having embroid- 
ered upon the backs and breasts of the said coats, 
these letters, T. and C, under the cardinal's hat. 
His sumpter-mules, which were twenty in number 
and more, with the carts an4 other carriages of his 
train, were passed on before, conducted and guarded 
with a great number of bows and spears. He rode 
like a cardinal, very suraptously, on a mule trapped 
with crimson velvet upon velvet, and his stirrups 
of copper and gilt; and his spare mule following 
him with like apparel, *^ and before him he had his 

* It was the usage of the age for the dignitaries of the church 



His LIFE AND TIiVIES. 123 

two great crosses of silver, two great pillars of sil- 
ver, the ^reat seal of England, his cardinal's hat, 
and a gentleman that carried his vallaunce, (other- 
wise called a cloak bag,) which was made altoge- 
ther of fine scarlet cloth of gold, very richly, having 
therein a cloak of fine scarlet. Thus passed he 
through London, and all the way on his journey, 
having his harbingers passing before^ to provide 
lodging for his train." 

The cavalcade halted the first night at Sir John 
Wiltshire's, two miles beyond Dartford. Wolsey 
states in his letter to the king, written from that place, 
that " he had met there my lord of Canterbury (War- 
ham;) with whom after communication had of your 
secret matter, and such other things as have been 
hitherto done therein, I showed him how the know- 
ledge thereof is come to the queen's grace, and how 
displeasantly she taketh it, and what your highness 
had done for the staying and pacification of her; de- 
claring unto her, that your grace had hitherto nothing 
intended nor done, but only for the searching and 
trying out of the truth, proceeding upo?i occasion 
given by the French party ^ and doubts moved therein 
by the Bishop of Tarbes.* Which fashion liked my 
Lord of Canterbury very well. And noting his 
countenance, gesture, and manner,f although he 
somewhat marvelled how the queen should come to 
the knowledge thereof, and by whom; thinking that 
3^our grace might constrain and cause her to show the 
discoverers thereofto your highness: yet, as I perceive, 



to ride on mules, it being esteemed ni)bf>comiTi<r to ride on 
horseliack, whim their Lord and Master rode imi the foal of an 
ass. Old Beraldus, {De Supcrbia,) thus quaintly expresses him- 
self on this subject; "Ctinstus niinquaiti equitavit, taiitnm 
semel asinavit; atque adeo neque mulavit, neque palafedavit, 
iieque droinedariavit. 

* Gabriel de <jrammont. Bishop of Tarbes, was one of those 
who came on an emhassj' from France, in the spring of J527. 
'i'he much agitated question is here settled as to the quarter in 
which the king's doubts originated. 

t We here see Wolsey acting the not very honorable part of 
an inquisitor, and that too under the hospitable roof of his 
friend who entertained him. 



124 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

he is not much altered or turned from his first fac- 
tion; expressly affirming- that, however displeasantly 
the queen took this matter, yet the truth and judg- 
ment of the law must have place and be followed. 
And so proceeding farther with him in communica- 
tion, I have sufficiently instructed him, how he shall 
order himself in case the queen do demand his coun- 
sel in the said matter; which mine advertisement he 
doth not only like, but also hath promised me to 
follow the same accordingly." 

On Thursday night Wolsey came to Rochester, 
"where," he continues, "I was lodged in the 
Bishop's [Fisher] palace, and was right lovingly 
and kindly by him entertained. After other com- 
munication, I asked him whether he had heard 
lately any tidings from the court, and whether any 
man had been sent unto him from the queen's grace. 
At which question, he somewhat stayed and paused; 
nevertheless, in conclusion, he answered; true it 
is, that, of late one was sent to him from the queen's 
grace, who brought him a message only by mouth, 
without disclosure of any particularity, that certain 
matters there were between your grace and her 
chanced, wherein she would be glad to have his 
counsel, alleging that your highness was content 
she should so have. Whereunto, as he saith, he 
made answer, likewise by mouth, that he was ready 
and prone to give unto her his counsel in any thing 
that concerned or touched herself only, but in mat- 
ters concerning your highness, here he would no- 
thing do, without knowledge of your pleasure and 
express commandment; and herewith dismissed the 
messenger. After declaration whereof, I replied 
and said; ' My lord, ye and I have been of an old 
acquaintance, and the one hath loved and trusted 
the other; wherefore, postponing all doubt and fear, 
ye may be frank and plain with me, like as I, for 
my part, will be v/ith you.' And so I demanded of 
him, whether he had any special knowledge or con- 
jecture, what the matter should be, wherein the 
queen desired to hear his advice. Whereupon he 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 125 

answered, that by certain report and relation he 
knew nothing; howbeit, upon conjecture, rising 
upon such things as he had heard, he thinketh it 
was for a divorce between your highness and the 
queen; to which conjecture he was specially moved 
upon a tale brought unto him by his brother, from 
London; who showed him, that being there, in a 
certain company, he heard say that things v/ere set 
forth, sounding to such a purpose; whereupon and 
then, calling to remembrance the question 1 moved 
unto him by your grace's commandment, with the 
message sent unto him from the queen, he verily 
supposed such a matter to be in hand; and this was 
all he knoweth therein, as he constantly affirmeth, 
without that ever he sent any word or knowledge 
thereof, by his faith, to the queen's grace, or any 
other living person. Upon this occasion, I said 
unto him, that although for such considerations, as 
in lurther hearing of the matter he shall perceive, 
your highness was minded not to disclose the same 
to many, but as secretly to handle it as might be, 
and therefore, did communicate it unto very few; 
yet now, perceiving your good mind and gracious 
intent to be otherwise taken by suspicions and con- 
jectures than was purposed; your highness had 
given me special charge and commission to disclose 
the same unto him; taking an oath of him to keep 
it close and secret, and to show his mind and opin- 
ion what he thought therein. After which oath 
taken, &c.' Wolsey then proceeds to speak of other 
matters, but again reverts to this subject, as follows: 
"And thus declaring the whole matter to him at 
length, as was devised with your highness at York 
Place, I added that, by what means was not re- 
prehended, an inkling of this matter is come to the 
queen's knowledge; who, being suspicious, and cast- 
ing farther doubts than were meant or intended, hath 
broken with your grace thereof, after a very dis- 
pleasant manner; saying that, by my procurement 
and setting forth, a divorce was purposed between 
her and your highness; and b}?^ her manner, behav- 

n* 



126 SIR THOI\IAS MORE, 

ior, words, and messages sent to diverse, hath pub- 
lished, divulged, and opened the same; and what your 
highness hath said unto her therein, to the purging 
of the matter, how and after what sort your grace 
has used yourself to attain to the knowledge of him 
that should be author of that tale unto her'.' And I 
assure your grace, my Lord of Rochester, hearing 
the process of the matter after this sort, did arrest 
great blame unto the queen, as well for giving too 
light credence in so weighty a matter, as also, when 
she heard it, to handle the same in such fashion 
as rumor and bruit should speed thereof, which 
might not only be some stay and let to the univer- 
sal peace, which is now in treaty, but also to the 
great danger and peril of your grace's succession, if 
the same should be farther spread and divulged; and 
he doubted not, but that if he might speak with her, 
and disclose unto her all the circumstances of the 
matter as afore, he should cause her greatly to re- 
pent, humble and submit herself unto your high- 
ness; considering that the thing done by your grace 
in this matter, was too necessary and expedient, and 
the queen's act herein so perilous and dangerous. 
Howbeit, I have so persuaded him, that he will 
nothing speak or do therein, nor any thing counsel 
her, but as shall stand with your pleasure; for he 
saith, although she be queen of this realm, yet he 
acknowledgeth you for his high sovereign lord and 
king; and will not, thereupon, otherwise behave 
himself, in all matters, concerning or touching your 
person, than as he shall be by your grace expressly 
commanded."* 

" On Saturday, he reached Canterbury, where he 
was encountered by the v/orshipfullest of the town 



* " The overbearing deportment of Wolsey probably over- 
awed these good prelates. Wolsey understood them in the 
manner nio^t suitable to his purpose; and, confident that he 
shou'd by some means finally gain them, he probably colored 
very highly their language in his communication to Henry, 
whom he had just before displeased by unexpected scruples." 

Sir J. Mackintosh. 



HIS LIFE AND TlMESo 127 

and country, and lodged in the abbey of Christ- 
church, in the prior's lodging. Here he continued 
three or four days;* in which time there was the 
great jubilee, and a fair in honor of the feast of Saint 
Thomas, their patron. On which day of the said 
feast, there was made a solemn procession in the 
abbey; and my lord cardinal went there, apparelled 
in his legantine ornaments, with his cardinal's hat 
on; who commanded the monks and all the choir to 
sing the Litany after this sort, Sanda Maria ora pro 
Papa nostro Clemenie,\ and thus they sang through 
the Litany, my lord Cardinal kneeling at the choir- 
door, at a form covered with carpets and cushions, the 
monks and all the choir standing all the while in 
the midst of the body of the church. At which time 
I saw the lord cardinal weep very tenderly; which 
was, as we supposed, for heaviness of heart that the 
Pope was, at that time, in such calamity and great 
danger of the Lance-Knights," [the German merce- 
naries, who were so denominated.] 

On landing in Calais, Wolsey made an address to 
his followers, in which occurs the following very 
whimsical piece of advice. "Now, to the pointofthe 
Frenchmen's nature: ye shall understand that their 
disposition is such, that, at the first meeting, they will 
be as familiar with you, as if they had been acquainted 
with you long before, and commence with you in 
the French tongue, as though ye understood every 
word they spake: therefore, in like manner, be ye 
as familiar with them again as they be with you. 
If they speak to you in the French tongue, speak 
you to them. in the English tongue; for if you un- 

* A letter from Wm. Knight, dated Windsor, 9th of July, after 
stating that the king accepts very thankfully the overtute 
made to the Lords of Canterbury and Rochester, adds; " And 
forasmuch as in your journey ye shall not, by chance, have 
always venison ai'ter your appetite, his highness hath sent 
unto your grace at this time, a red deer, by a servant of his 
own; and that, not because it is a deer excellent, but forasmuch 
as it is, at this time, a novelty and dainty, and moreover killed 
by his own hand." 

t His Holiness was at this time a prisoner in the castle of 
St. Angelo, after the sacking of the city. 



128 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

derstand not them, no more shall they understand 
you." And here my lord spake merrily to one of 
the gentlemen, being a Welshman; " Rice," quoth 
he, "speak thou Welsh to him, and I am well as- 
sured that thy Welsh shall not be more difficult to 
him, than his French shall be to thee." 

August 3. He reaches Amiens: " within a mile 
and a half of which," says Wolsey, " ihe French 
King, riding upon a grey genet, apparelled in a coat 
of black velvet, cut in diverse places for showing the 
lining, which was white satin, accompanied by the 
king of Navarre, the cardinal Bourbon, the Duke of 
Vendome, the Countde St. Pol, the Duke of Guise, 
the Count de Vaudemont, the Grand master, and the 
Seneschal of Normandy, with diverse archbishops, 
bishops, and other noblemen, advanced towards me. 
As soon as I had a sight of his person, dividing my 
company on both hands, in most reverent manner, 
sole and alone, I did accelerate my repair and 
access; and His Grace doing the like on his part, be- 
ing uncovered, with his bonnet in his hand, encoun- 
tered me with most hearty, kind, loving countenance 
and manner, and embraced me, presenting me to the 
aforesaid noble personages, by whom I was like- 
wise welcomed; in the time of doing whereof, the 
French King saluted my Lord of London [Cuthbert 
Tunstal]; my Lord Chamberlain [Lord Sandys], 
master controller [Sir Henry Guilford,] and the 
chancellor of the duchy, [Sir Thomas More]. After 
which salutations on both sides, the French king with 
loving and joyous countenance, most heartily de- 
manded of your Highness' welfare and prosperity, 
to hear of which was to his great consolation and 
comfort. And so, passing together by the way, 
placing me, albeit I refused the same, on his left 
hand, he was glad to find occasion to talk of your 
Highness' virtuous personage, excellent qualities, 
and pastime. And to the intent, as me seemed, that 
he greatly esteemed all such things as were sent by 
your Highness to him, he caused the Count St. 
Pol, Monsieur de Guise, and Monsieur de Yaude- 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 129 

mont to ride next before him, three of the horses 
that your Highness had sent him; whereof the one 
being- a bay, he said was the best, the highest and 
the most meet for the war, of any to be found in 
Christendom. And then as we passed through the 
city, which was marvellously replenished with 
people, crying Vive le Roy, he forgot not, far above 
my deserts, to recognise how much his mother and 
realm were bounden unto me. And because he 
knew (so it pleased him to say), that your Highness 
used me in all your affairs, as your chief counsellor, 
he from henceforth should do the same; assuring 
me that wiiatever 1 should think to be done, he 
would follow, taking and reputing me from the time 
forward, as his chancellor and minister. After de- 
mand whether I would see the Queen that night, 
whereof I showed myself to be very glad, I departed 
from him, and by the cardinal of Lorrain was ac- 
companied to my lodgings, which I found richly 
apparelled with the king's own stuff. The centre 
chamber with rich cloth of tissue and silver em- 
broidered, wherein was a large cloth of state of the 
same stuff. The second chamber was apparelled 
with crimson velvet embroidered, and replenished 
wdth larg-e letters of gold F and A, crowned with 
another very large cloth of state of fine arxas. The 
third chamber, being my bed chamber, was appa- 
relled with rich cloth of tissue, raised, and a great 
sparver and counterpoint to the same; and the fourth, 
being as a closet, was hanged with cloth of bawdi- 
kin, whereto was annexed a little gallery, hanged 
with crimson velvet.* 

"And after a little pause, and shifting myself, the 
cardinal of Bourbon, the Duke of Vendome, and 
other prelates and noblemen, came to conduct me to 
my Lady's presence; who was lodged in the Bishop's 
palace; in the hall whereof, which was large and 

* Had a question arisen whether Wolsey was an upholsterer's 
instead of a butcher's son, one would think that the fondness 
shown by him for minute descriptions of furniture, ornamental 
hangings, &c., would have solved the doubt. 



130 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

spacious, richly hung- with arras, were placed in 
good order, on both sides, the French king's guard, 
my Lady his mother, the Queen of Navarre, Madame 
Regnet, the Duchess of Vendome, the king of 
Navarre's sister, with a great number of ladies and 
gentlemen. My Lady as I approached, advanced 
in most loving and pleasant manner, and welcomed, 
and embraced me, and likewise saluted my Lord of 
London, my Lord Chamberlain, Master Controller 
and the Chancellor of the Duchy, and more especial- 
ly the Earl of Derby, whom it liked her Grace to 
kiss, and right lovingly to welcome. Which done, 
the Lady taking me by the arm, conveyed me to 
her inner chamber, where, under a rich cloth of 
state were set two chairs garnished, one with black 
velvet and the other with cloth of tissue. After 
delivery and reading of your grace's letters, which 
seemed to be very pleasant to her, and making cor- 
dial recommendations to your grace, demanding of 
your welfare and prosperity, her pleasure was that 
we should sit down and enter into further commu- 
nication. 1 stayed till eight of the clock, when, as 
my Lady had not supped, I took my leave and 
returned to my lodgingS; accompanied by the afore- 
said Cardinal of Bourbon, and the Duke of Vendome. 
" August 14th being our Lady's eve, there came to 
my lodgings the Grand master, sent by the French 
King, to signify to me that His Grace was minded 
that night to go and hear even-song in the cathedral 
church of our Lady, praying me, if I were semhlahly 
minded [of the same mind] to hear even-song in 
that church, to repair thither, where his Grace 
would meet me, and so together we should pass to 
such places as were prepared for that purpose. I 
went to the great chamber, when His Grace met 
me with loving countenance and manner, being un- 
covered, with his bonnet in his hand, and saluted 
me; and so passing through the church and choir, 
we proceeded to the high altar, where two trevas- 
ses [desks with cushions] were prepared, the one 
for the French king on the right hand, and the other 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 131 

for me on the left. The French king's travess wasi 
of rich cloth of tissue, being- like to a square testar., 
with curtains of red damask, which were tucked 
up, so that his grace kneeling or sitting on the same, 
might be seen by all the people. There were also 
in the same two chairs, covered with rich cloth of 
tissue; and although, after I had brought him to his 
said travess, 1 was minded to go to the place pre- 
pared for me, most humbly beseeching His Grace 
that I might do so, yet in no wise could I persuade 
him, but that his pleasure was, I should both kneel 
and sit with him in the same; and so, conforming 
myself to his command, we kneeling together, made 
to the Sacrament a few prayers; then without suffer- 
ing me to say to him even-song, or hearing the same 
by such bishops and prelates as were present at his 
privy altar, alleging that in the morning he had 
heard and said his evening song, he sat down in 
one of the chairs, causing me to do the same in 
the other, notwithstanding any refusal 1 would make 
to the contrary; and in the sight of all the people, 
and all those officiating, he entered into conversa- 
tion with me of affairs." Wolsey afterwards ob- 
serves to Henry; " As yet I have forborne to make 
any overture of your secret matter; fearing that the 
disclosing thereof might cause the Frencii king to 
be more slack in concluding the perpetual peace; 
purposing to defer the same till I have put your 
affairs in sure perfection, and train." 

At the close of his letter of the 1 6th he says; " Lit- 
tle more now remains to be treated with the French 
king, unless it be the opening of your secret matter; 
the disclosing whereof I purpose to defer till at the 
point of departing: handling the same after such a 
cloudy and dark sort, that he shall not know your 
Grace's utter determination and intent in that behalf, 
till your Highness shall see to what effect the same 
shall be brought." In the letter of the 19th we 
learn that " after dinner the king, with his Lady, 
and all the court, are to depart to visit certain de- 
vout places, whereto his grace had vowed pil- 



132 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

grimag-es in the time of his sickness and cap- 
tivity." 

More returned with Wolsey to England towards 
the close of September. It is to be regretted that he 
has left us no record of this journey; his impressions 
of the new scene that here met his view would, no 
doubt, have been at once amusing- and instructive. 

After his return, More devoted his leisure to con- 
troversy. There is a letter of Bishop Tunstal to 
him, of this date, containing a permission for him 
to read heretical books, and an exhortation to imi- 
tate the great example which his royal master had 
set him. To this he was also encouraged by the 
example of his friend and correspondent, Erasmus, 
who, after many solicitations, had at length taken 
the field against Luther, in his dissertation De Li- 
bero Jlrhitrio — on Free Will. This was written in 
the scholar's usual tone of moderation and candor, 
yet it called forth a reply from the g-reat cory- 
phaeus of the reform, rife in ridicule and invec- 
tive, entitled by opposition De Servo Arhiirio — On 
the Enslaved Will. Provoked at a treatment so 
rude and unmerited, Erasmus rejoined in a tract of 
much point and spirit, entitled Hyperaspistes — The 
Shielded-Warrior. 

More, in a treatise written some years later, 
gives us his reasons for entering the controver- 
sial lists and they appear honest and satisfactory. 
" Some have asked, why I meddle with these mat- 
ters? and say, that, being a layman, I should leave 
It to the clergy, not having professed the study of 
the Holy Scriptures. First, as touching learning: 
if these matters were very doubtful, and things of 
great question, or had been so cunningly handled 
by Tindall and his fello3Vs, that they might seem 
matters of doubt and question, then would I, perad- 
venture, let them alone myself, to be debated by 
divines and men of erudition. But, the matters 
being so plain and evident, and by the whole church 
of Christ so clearly put out of question, I should 
not seem to me in my right mind, and a true Chris- 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 133 

tian man, to g-ive a heretic so much authority, as to 
reckon me unable, in such plain points of the 
Christian faith, to answer him; especially, as 1 have 
gone somewhat to school myself, and bestowed as 
many years in study, and under as cunning masters 
as some of them have. Nor do I see these matters, 
handled in such wise by Tindall, or the best of 
them, but that a right mean-learned man, or almost 
an unlearned woman, having natural wit, and being 
sure and fast in the true Catholic faith, were well 
able to answer them. For so help me God, I find 
nothing effectual among them all, but a shameless 
boldness and an unreasonable railing, with Scrip- 
ture wrested awry, and made to minister matter to 
their jesting, scoffing, and outrageous ribaldry, not 
only against every estate here on earth, and the most 
religious living, but against the very saints in heaven, 
and the mysteries of God, and more especially those 
of the Holy Sacrament of the altar. In maintaining 
which, they fare as folks that trust in nothing else 
but to weary out all the world by their importunate 
babblings, and overwhelm them with a weight of 
words. But the cause of my writing is not so much 
to debate and dispute these things with them, as to 
give those of the faith warning what mischief there 
is in their books. Again, seeing the king's gracious 
purpose in this point, and how effectually by writ- 
ing he hath maintained the true Catholic. faith, of 
which he has the honorable and well-deserved title 
of Defender, I reckoned, that, being his unworthy 
chancellor, it appertained to my part and duty to 
follow the example of his noble grace, and, after my 
poor wit and learning, to oppose the malice of these 
pernicious books; indeed, to this do I consider my- 
self bounden in virtue of my office and my oath, and 
not in reason only, but also by plain ordinance and 
statute. Such mischievous minds have the makers 
of these books, that they boast and glory when their 
ungracious writing bringeth any man to death. 
And yet they make their semblance as though they 
were sorry for it; and Tindall crieth out upon the 
12 



134 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

prelates and on the temporal princes, and calleth 
them murderers and martyr-makers; dissembling 
that the cruel writer with his wretched books, mur- 
dereth the man himself, while he giveth him the 
poison of his heresies, and thereby compelleth 
princes, by occasion of their incurable and conta- 
gious pestilence, to punish them according to the 
laws, both for example, and to keep infection from 
others." 

This passage is highly curious, as giving us Sir 
Thomas's religio-political profession of faith, and a 
view of the principles by which his public conduct 
was guided. What follows is altogether in his 
tone and manner: 

" Not only do these men affirm that it is against 
the Gospel of Christ, that any heretic should be 
prosecuted and punished, and especially by bodily 
pain and death; but some of them say the same of 
every manner of crime, theft, murder, treason, and 
all. And yet in Germany now, contrary to their 
own evangelical doctrine, these evangelicals them- 
selves cease not to pursue and punish by all the 
means they may, of purse, prison, bodily pain, or 
death, such of their brethren as vary from their sect 
— of which sects there are more ihan a man can well 
rehearse. And to this, at the last, be they driven 
themselves, contrary to their own former doctrine, 
because they find by experience that one sect can- 
not long dwell together with the other, without 
coming in contest, and seeking the other's ruin; in 
proof whereof, look at the Donatists of old in Af- 
rica, the Arians in Greece, the Hussites in Bohe- 
mia, the Wickliffites in England, and now the Lu- 
therans in Germany, and lastly the Zuinglians: 
what a business they have made, what destruction 
and manslaughter, as partly history shows, and in 
part men have seen. . . Now the purpose of my 
present labor is to show that these wily heresies 
are walking forth among us under the counterfeit 
visage of the true Christian faith; and, God willing, 
I shall so pull off their gay painted vizors, that 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 135 

their bare deformity may be seen. . . But, as God 
is my help, I find all my labor in the writing not 
half so grievous and painful to me, as the tedious 
reading of their blasphemous books. And would to 
heaven that all my labors were done, so that the 
remembrance of their pestilent errors were erased 
out of Englishmen's hearts, that their abominable 
books were burned up, and mine own were walked 
off with them, and the very name of these matters ut- 
terly put in oblivion. . . But so many of these pes- 
tilent books are daily coining abroad, and men are 
so curious, weaning that these new wares will wear 
well, that it is necessary that the lovers of the truth 
should set their pens to work. The spreaders of 
error are always more active than the defenders of 
the truth; while the disciples of Christ sleep, there 
will always be the enemy busy to sow the tares. 
Many are so wearied with sorrow and heaviness to 
see the world wax so wretched, that they fall into 
a slumber and let the wretches alone; if we would 
match them, we must watch, and pray, and take the 
pen in hand. . . But now, leaving other men to do 
as God may please to put into their minds, I shall, 
for my part, perform what I have promised, if God 
give me life and grace thereto. For as for leisure, 
that, shall not I trust, one time or other, lack to suffice 
for so much, and for much more too. But which, as 
I before said, when I have performed, I would in 
good faith wish that never man should need to read 
any word of it. As poisons will be found, so must 
treacle and other medicines be provided; but the 
very treacle were well lost, so that the poison were 
utterly lost too. For surely the very best way, 
were neither to read this, nor their books either; but 
rather that the unlearned should occupy themselves 
in better business — in prayer, good meditation, and 
the reading of such English books as most may 
nourish and increase devotion; of which kind is 
Bona venture of the Life of Christ, Gerson of the 
Following of Christ, and the devout contemplative 
book of the Scala Perfedionis, and such others, 



136 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

than in learning what may be answered to here- 
tics."* 

The fruit of these studies shortly after appeared 
in the " Dialogue concerning heresies and matters^of 
religion," directed principally against the errors of 
Tindall, a man whom he describes as " so puffed 
up with pride, malice, and envy, that it is more 
than marvel that his skin can hold together; and yet 
before he fell away from the faith, he was as meek 
and as simple a soul, as a man should have seen on 
a summer's day!" It is a long and labored com- 
position, not untinctured with the angry logic and 
bitter personalities which belonged to the age; and 
yet enlivened by numerous traits of wit, and illus- 
trated by apposite anecdote. We must find room 
for a specimen or two. 

TINDALL. 

" What am I the better for the belief of purgatory? 

MORE. 

" In good faith, not the better of one single half- 

* It will be seen that, in the difficult literary question relative 
to the true author of the " Imitation," Bir Thomas takes the side 
of his brother chancellor, Gerson'. The last writer on this sub- 
ject, the Rev. F. Dibden, [1520,] pronounces in favor of the same 
writer. The claim of Thomas a Kempis seems generally aban- 
doned. The pious Christian who has read this work, solely 
with a view to his edification, will learu with surprise, that 
above sixty volumes, and some of them rather angry ones too, 
have been published concerning the identity of the aulhor. 

"There is no object," says the Abbe de la Mennais, "which 
human curiosity considers as frivolous. Immense researches 
have been made to discover the name of a poor solitary of the 
I3th century. What has been the result of so long and laborious 
an inquiry? The solitary remains unknown, and the happy 
obscurity in which he passed his days, has protected his humi- 
lity from our vain impatience to know every thing." 

The ScalaPerfectionis (Ladder of Perfectiou) is the work of 
Father Hilton C15-20). 

Among the books of piety, of a century later, we may parti- 
cularise Austen's Devotions in the manner of ancient offices, a 
work remarkable for its elegance, and for the unction which it 
breathes throughout. It has become scarce, and a reprint, with 
a Memoir of its excellent Author, is intended to form one of 
the numbers of The Catholic Family Library. 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 137 

penny, while ye believe it no better than ye do. 
But surely if ye believe it well, ye mig-ht beboth the 
better from purgatory, and the farther from hell."* 

" You men of the new learning-, as you call it, 
boast that ye have taken away Hypocrisy. It may 
be so: but of this 1 am right well assured, that ye 
have left Impudence in its place." 

Sir Thomas illustrates the vouching to falsehoods 
against the Catholics, by the following anecdote. 
" A pilgrim and his companion had come from 
London to York, and as travellers see strange 
things, the elder one declared that he had seen a 
bird that covered the whole of St. Paul's Church- 
yard with his wings. On the following day, the 
tale changed its phasis somewhat; he had not seen 
the bird, but he had heard much talk thereof. His 
companion, when questioned, said that he would 
not vouch for the truth of the tale, and that indeed 
he thought the thing but little credible. For his 
own part, he had only seen the egg which the bird 
laid, and which ten men could scarcely move with 
levers." 

Speaking of the illusion of sinners, who, on 
their death beds, are fain to hear the minister of 
religion smooth the matter over, and promise that 
all shall be well with them; he has this homely, 
but apt comparison. " Even as a mother, with her 
fair words and promises, sendeth her child to 
school who hath slept too long in the morning, and 
is in fear and danger of the rod. When he weepeth 
and blubbereth, she promiseth him that all will be 
well, that it is not so late as he imagines, that his 
master will pardon his fault this time: till at last 
she sends him merry from his home, with his bread 
and butter in his hand: and yet he iS not a whit the 
less waled for all that!" 

The following is apt: 

" My opponent would fain have all the talk to 

* This reply of More will not fail to remind the reader of the 
vvell-knowii ri'parteo of Father O'i.eary on the !<anie suhject. 

12* 



138 sm THOMAS MORE, 

himself, and yet blames me for not sufficiently ex- 
tending upon some points. It fares between him 
and me, as it once did between a nun and her brother. 
Very virtuous was this lady, and of a close order, 
in which she had been long, and had rarely seen 
her brother, who was likewise very virtuous, and 
had been far off at a university, where he had taken 
the degree of Doctor in Divinity. When he came 
home, he went to see his sister, as he who highly 
rejoiced in her virtue. So came she to the grate 
which they call, I trow, the locutory^ and after the 
holy watch-word spoken on both sides, after the 
manner of the place, the one took the other by the 
tip of the finger, for hand could there be none thrust 
through the grate. And forthwith began my lady to 
give her brother a sermon on the wretchedness of 
this world, and the frailty of the flesh, and the sub- 
tle sleights of the wicked fiend; and gave him to 
be sure good counsel, saving somewhat too long, 
how he should beware in his living, and master all 
his body for saving of his soul. So she went on, 
and yet, ere her own tale came to an end, she began 
somewhat to find fault with him, and said; — In good 
faith, brother, I do somewhat marvel, that you, 
who have been at learning so long, and are a doctor, 
and so deeply read in the law of God, do not now 
at our meeting— seeing we meet so seldom — to me 
that am your sister, and a simple unlearned soul, 
give, in your charity, some fruitful exhortation; for 
I doubt not but you can say some good thing your- 
self. — By my troth, good sister, quoth her brother, 
I cannot for yourself; for your tongue hath never 
ceased since we met, but has said enough for us 
both." 

Another anecdote of Sir Thomas on the subject 
of talkative dames, may have its place here. 

" There was of late a kinswoman of yours," 
says one of the interlocutors in the ' Dialogue on 
Tribulation,' " but whom I vv'ill not name; guess 
her an you can. Her husband took much pleasure 
in the society of another honest man, and visited 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 139 

him often; so that, at his meal-time he was fre- 
quently from home. It happened on a time, that 
his wife and he were dining together at that neigh- 
bor's, and then she made a merry quarrel with him, 
for making her husband such good cheer out of 
doors, that she could scarcely have him at home. 
Forsooth, mistress, quoth he, for he was a dry 
merry man, in my company nothing keepeth him 
but one thing; serve you him with the same, and 
he will never be from you. — Vv'hat gay thing may 
that bel quoth our cousin. — Forsooth, mistress, 
replied he, your husband loveth talk with all his 
heart, and when he sitteth witli me, I let him have 
all the words. — All the words! quoth the dame; is 
that all! I am content that he shall have all the 
words. He always has them at home, but then — 
I speak them all myself !" 

1528. This year the country experienced a second 
visitation of the disease known by the name of the 
Sweating Sickness. It first made its appearance in 
the preceding reign (1485), and its ravages were very 
fatal; but experience had discovered means for coun- 
teracting its malignity. At court, the disease made 
its first appearance among the female attendants of 
Anne Boleyn. By the king's order she was imme- 
diately conveyed to her father's seat in Kent; but 
she carried the infection with her, and had a narrow 
escape. Considering the fate that shortly awaited 
this wretched woman, and the serious evils of 
which she was to be the unhappy cause, would it 
be a want of charity to regard her recovery, as a 
misfortune to the country and to herself? Several 
persons, and among them some of noble birth, died 
in the palace of the cardinal, whose apprehensions 
induced him to elope from his family, and conceal 
the place of his retreat, at least from all but the 
king. Henry, also, seeing the contagion spread 
among the gentlemen of his privy chamber, fre- 
quently changed his residence, locked himself up 
from all communication with strangers, and instead 
of attending to his " secret matter," joined the queen 



140 



SIR THOMAS MORE, 



in her devotional exercises, confessing himself every- 
day, and communicating every Sunday and festival. 

The following memoranda from the State Papers 
of this year, will not be uninteresting. 

May 10. Hennage, one of the king's secretaries 
in a letter to Wolsey: "Mistress Anne is very 
well amended, and coramendeth her humbly to 
your grace, and thinketh long till she speak with 
you. And the king's highness this day hath sent 
you, by my servant, a buck which he killed yester- 
day at Eltham park." 

June 14. In a letter from the same. ' This day 
as the king's highness came toward evensong, my 
Lord Marquess of Exeter had brought from Burling 
two great bucks, which he presented unto his high- 
ness, and he commanded me to take the best of them, 
and send to your grace; and this day, his highness, 
like a gracious prince, has received his Maker, at 
the Fryers, which was administered to his highness 
by my lord of Lincoln [Dr. Longland]. News 
there be none, but that his highness upon Tuesday 
next according to his appointment, doth remove to 
Waltham. Thus our Lord preserve your grace. 
From Greenwich, this Corpus-Christi day.' 

July 5. In a letter dated Hampton Court, Wol- 
sey thus addresses the king: " Most lowly and hum- 
bly prostrate at your feet, I bessech your highness, 
in consideration of my very true and faithful service, 
exhibited as well to your highness, as to this your 
realm, to be a good and gracious lord to my soul; 
and that such things as I have devised for the same, 
and to the increase of God's honor, learning, vir- 
tuous living, and for the common weal of this your 
realm, by your gracious favor and assistance, may 
be perfected, accomplished, and absolved, according 
to the purport of my testament and last will made 
in that behalf; wherein I have had such loving re- 
membrance of your highness, and of the great bene- 
fits by the same exhibited unto me, that 1 trust your 
highness, and all the world, shall say, that ye have 
not bestowed your favors and goodness upon an 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 141 

ingrate. And one thing-, (if it shall fortune the 
same to be the last word that I shall speak, or 
write to your highness), I dare boldly say and 
affirm, that your grace hath had of me, a most loving, 
true, and faithful servant; and that for favor under 
gift, or promise of gift, at any time, I never did, or 
consented to do, anything that might in the least 
point, redound unto vour dishonor or disprofit. And 
herein spiritually rejoicing, conforming my mind to 
God's pleasure, whatsoever shall chance of me, I 
most humbly, and with all my heart, service, and 
prayer, bid your Grace farewell. From your manor 
of Hampton Court, the 5th day of July, by your 
grace's most humble chaplain, 

T. CARii^ EBOR. 

July 9. In a letter from Hennage to Wolsey we 
have the king's reply: — " This morning, at seven 
of the clock, I delivered your grace's letters to the 
king's highness; wherewith I assure your grace, 
his highness was greatly comforted, and given unto 
your grace hearty thanks for the same. And glad 
he is to hear, that your grace hath so good a heart, 
and that you have determined and made your will, 
and ordered yourself anenst God, as you have done, 
and as his highness had semblable [in like manner'] 
done; which will he intendeth shortly to send unto 
your grace, wherein your grace shall perceive the 
trusty and hearty mind that he hath unto you, above 
all men living. He also desireth your grace that 
he may hear every second day from you, how you 
do; for I assure you, every morning as soon as he 
Cometh from the queen, he asketh whether I have 
any thing from your grace." 

August 5. Hennage to Wolsey: 

*' The king's highness commendeth him heartily 
to your grace, and sends you, by this bearer, the 
greatest red deer that was killed by his grace, or 
any of his hunters, all this year. Yesterday his 
highness took marvelous great pain in hunting of 



142 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

the red deer, from nine of the clock in the morning" 
to seven of the clock at night, and for all his pains- 
taking-, he, nor any of his servants, could kill but 
this one, notwithstanding they hunted in four seve- 
ral parts. From Easthampstead, this present Sun- 
day." 

From the abodes of profligacy and courtly intrigue, 
to the modest chamber of More's residence at Chel- 
sea, the transition is grateful and refreshing. The 
prevalent malady was, however, active within its 
walls, and had not spared to attack one for whose 
safety we feel a more than common solicitude. The 
life of Margaret Roper was, for a time, considered to 
be in danger. The aid of the most experienced physi- 
cians of the time had proved fruitless; she had fal- 
len into a state of lethargy from which no efforts 
could arouse her. In this extremity, her father, 
" as he that most loved her, sought a remedy of 
this her desperate case from God." He hastened 
to his private chapel, " and there, upon his knees 
and with many tears, besought Almighty God, to 
whom nothing was impossible, of his great good- 
ness, if such were his blessed will, to grant his 
humble petition for the child he so fondly loved." 
The prayers of the pious father were not offered in 
vain. When More returned to his daughter's cham- 
ber, he found ber thoroughly awakened from her 
lethargic state, and from that moment she began to 
amend. Sir Thomas was afterwards heard to say; 
" that, had it been the will of God at that time to 
have taken her to his mercy, he had made up his 
mind never to have meddled in any worldly matters, 
after; such," continues Cresacre, whose account 
we have followed, " such was his fatherly love and 
vehement affection to this his jewel, who, of all the 
rest, the most nearly expressed her father's virtues; 
though," continues he, with a pride of heart pardon- 
able in a member of such a family, " the meanest of 
all the rest might have been matched with any of 
their age, whether for learning, excellent qualities, 
or unaffected piety, they having been brought up even 



EIS LIFE AND TIMES. 143 

from their infancy with such pious care, always 
enjoying virtuous example, and learned and diligent 
instructors." 

In the meantime the absence of Anne Boleyn 
from court, the religious impression which the salu- 
tary visitation of the sickness had produced upon 
Henry's mind, and the harmony in which he now 
lived with his wife,* afforded all good men a hope 
that he had altered his views, and abandoned his 
project of the divorce. But towards the close of 
the summer the sickness abated; and despatches 
were received from Gardener in Rome, announcing 
the departure of Cardinal Campeggio with the De- 
cretal 13ull. Henry's hopes revived; the old train of 
associations, disturbed only for a season, was revived, 
and Anne Boleyn recalled to the court. f She was 
not unaware of the dangers of absence, and of the risk 
she incurred in losing ground in the favor of her lover. 
She therefore redoubled her arts to confirm her em- 
pire over him, and aware that the influence of Wol- 
sey was the surest ground on which to rest her hopes, 
she exerted every effort to secure it in her favor. 
Her letters to the cardinal at this juncture have 
reached us, and will be found perfect models of the 
wheedling art. 

In the first she says: — " In the most humble 
wise that my poor heart can think, I do thank your 
Grace for your kind letter, and for your rich and 
goodly present, the which I shall never be able to 
deserve, without your great help, of the which I 
have hitherto had so great plenty, that all the days 
of my life I am. most bound of all creatures, next to 
the king's grace, to love and serve your grace, of 
the which I beseech you never to doubt that ever I 
shall vary from this thought, as long as any breath 
is in my body. And as touching your grace's trou- 



* A remarkable letter from Catharine and Henry, written 
jointly to tlie cardinal, confirms the statement in the text. 

See Appendix, No. 1. 
I The devil was sick, the devil a mnnk would be; 
The devil grew wefl — the devil a monk was he! 



144 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

ble with the sweating sickness, I thank our Lord that 
those I desired and prayed for are escaped, and that 
is the king and you. And as for the coming- of the 
Legate, I desire that much; and if it be God's plea- 
sure, I pray him to send this matter shortly to a 
good end: and then I trust, my Lord, to recom- 
pense part of your great pains therewith. I must 
require you, in the meantime, to accept my good 
will in the stead of the power; the which must pro- 
ceed heartily from you, as our Lord knoweth, whom 
I beseech to send you long life, with continuance of 
honor." 

In a second letter she says; — " I do know that the 
great pains and trouble you have taken for me, both 
day and night, is never like to be recompensed on 
my part, but only in loving you, next to the king's 
grace, aljove all creatures living." In a third: — " I 
assure you, that, after this matter is brought to pass, 
you shall find me grateful, as I am bound in the mean- 
time to owe you my service; and then look what thing 
in the world I can imagine to do you pleasure in, and 
you shall find me the gladdest woman in the world 
to do it; and next unto the king's grace, of one thing 
I make you full promise to be assured to have, and 
that is my hearty love, unfeignedly during life." 
The sequel will show how very religiously these 
warm professions were kept. 

1529. — In the course of this year, More was again 
sent to the Netherlands, on a mission of the same 
nature as that of the preceding year. He appears 
to have acquitted himself of the important charge 
entrusted to him in a manner that gave entire satis- 
faction. According to Roper, — " Sir Thomas worth- 
ily comported himself, procuring in this league far 
more benefits to the realm, than, at that time, was 
by the king and his council thought possible to be 
compassed;" and he proceeds to inform us that it 
was in consideration of those services, that when 
Sir Thomas was made chancellor, the Duke of Nor- 
folk was ordered publicly to declare, how much 
England was indebted to him. 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 145 

It is related that during More's stay in Bruges, 
an arrogant fellow had given out that he would an- 
swer whatever question could be proposed to him, 
in any art whatever. More caused to be put up — 
TJtrum averia capta in WUhernamid sint irreplegitt' 
bilia; adding that there was a person in the retinue 
of the English Envoy who could maintain the thesis 
against him. These technicalities of the law com- 
pletely posed the braggadocio, who was glad to 
steal off amidst the laughter of the spectators. 

On his return from Bruges, without staying to 
visit his family at Chelsea, he proceeded directly 
to the king, who, at that time, held his court at 
Woodstock. Here information was brought him 
"that part of his own dwelling house at Chelsea, and 
all his barns there, full of corn, suddenly fell on fire, 
and were burnt, and all the corn therein, by the 
negligence of one of his neiegbor's carts that carried 
the corn; and by occasion whereof diverse of his 
neighbors' barns were burned also." This called 
forth the following letter, which has fortunately 
been preserved, and which is strongly characteristic 
of the kindliness of More's nature. 

Mistress Alice: — In my most hearty wise I re- 
commend me to you. And whereas I am informed 
by my son Heron, of the loss of our barns, and our 
neighbors' also, with all the corn that was therein; 
albeit (saving God's pleasure,) it is a great pity of 
so much good corn lost, yet, as it hath liked Him to 
send us such a chance, we must, and are bounden, 
not only to be content, but also to be glad of his 
visitation. He sent us all we have lost; and since 
He hath, by such a chance, taken it away again, his 
pleasure be fulfilled. Let us never grudge thereat, 
but take it in good worth, and heartily thank Him, 
as well for adversity as prosperity. And, peradven- 
ture, we have more cause to thank Him for our loss 
than for our winning; for his wisdom better seeth 
what is good for us, than we do ourselves. There- 
fore, I pray you, be of good cheer, and take all the 
13 



146 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

household with you to church, and there thank God 
both for what he hath given us, and for that which 
he hath taken from us, and that for which he hath 
left us; which, if it please Him, he can increase 
when he will; and, if it please Him to leave us yet 
less, as his pleasure be it. I pray you to make good 
onsearch what my poor neighbors have lost, and bid 
them take no thought therefor: for, if I should not 
have myself a spoon, there shall be no poor neigh- 
bor of mine bear loss by any chance happened in 
my house. I pray you be, with my children and 
your household, merry in God: and devise some- 
what with your friends, what way were best to take 
for provision to be made for corn for our household, 
and for seed this year coming, if we think it good 
that we keep the ground still in our hands. And 
whether we think it good that we shall do so or 
not, yet I think it were not best suddenly thus to 
give it all up, and to put away our folk from our 
farm, till we have somewhat advised us thereon. 
Howbeit, if we have more now than we shall need, 
and which can get them other masters, ye may 
then discharge us of them: but I would not that any 
man were suddenly sent away, he wot not whither. — 
At my coming hither, I perceived none other than 
that I should have to abide the king's grace: but now 
I shall, I think, because of this chance, get leave to 
come home and see you; and then we shall further 
devise together upon all things, what order shall be 
best to take. And thus, as heartily fare you well, 
with all our children, as ye can wish ! At Wood- 
stock, the third day of September, by the hand of 

Thomas More. 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. l47 



CHAPTER VI. 

1529—1532. ^TAT. 53. 

PROGRESS OF THE DIVORCE — WOLSEy's DISGRACE — 
MORE MADE CHANCELLOR — RISE OF CROMWELL — ■ 
MORE RESIGNS THE CHANCELLORSHIP — LORD AUD- 
LEY CHANCELLOR. 

Farther proceedings on the divorce — Arrival of the Pope's le- 
jrate, Cardinal Cainpeggio — His and vVolsey's interview with 
Catharine — Anne returns to court, and insists on the remo- 
val of Catharine— Obtains her wish and rules absolute at 
court — Opening of the Legantine commission — King and 
queen summoned to the court— Catharine's appeal— Dispute 
in one of the sittings — More's prudent reserve— Canipeggio 
leaves — AflYont offered to Wolsey— His arraignment and 
disgrace — His state of destitution — More is raised to the dig- 
nity of Lord Chancellor — The honors paid him, and his speech 
on the occasion— His reforms in the court of chancery— His 
mode of expediting business— Anecdotes of his chancellor- 
ship — His respect for his aged father— Is consulted by the 
king relative to his scruples— He evades the question — The 
Two English universities declare in favor of the divorce— 'J'he 
foreign universities are divided in their opinions on the ques- 
tion — Rise of Cromwell — He suggests to the king the idea of 
making himself head of the church— The bill establishing the 
Supremacy — More announces to the commons the decision of 
the universities— Death of More's father, and his filial affec- 
tion — More feels that his official duties confiict with his con- 
science, and determines to resign— The king refuses for a 
time to accept his surrender of the seals, but at length ac- 
cedes to his wish — His successor Lord Audley— Anecdotes of. 

We are no'w brought to one of the most interesting 
portions of More's history. A new scene is opened 
for the display of his talents, and for the triumph of 
his principles. On the 25th of October, 1529, the 
king delivered to Sir Thomas More, the great seal, at 
Greenwich, and raised him to the highest honor that 
can be conferred upon a subject — the office of Lord 
Chancellor. It 'will be necessary to trace the steps 



148 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

that led him to this high station, and in order to this, 
we must revert to the proceedings at court. 

At the close of August, we have seen Anne Bo- 
leyn return to the king at Greenwich; early the Oc- 
tober following, arrived the Cardinal Campeggio, 
the legate from Rome. The court-historian gives 
the following account of his reception: " About 
three of the clock in the afternoon, on the 29th day 
of July, the legate entered the city, and in South- 
wark met him all the clergy of London, with 
crosses, censors, and copes, and censed him with 
great reverence. The mayor and Aldermen, and all 
the occupations of the city, in their best liveries, 
stood in the streets, and him highly honored: to 
whom Sir Thomas More made a brief oration in 
the name of the city." 

Previously to the legate's arrival, a sense of de- 
cency had induced the king again to remove Anne 
from the court. Catharine had all along shut her 
eyes, as far as possible, to the king's conduct, or, at 
least, she cautiously suppressed her feelings;* for 
we find the king and her living on the same terms 
as if no difficulty had arisen between them. To 
quote the words of the Bishop of Bayonne; " To 
see them together, one might have thought that 
nothing had occurred; and to this hour (16 October, 
1528) they have but one bed and one table. The 
people are in her favor, and declare, that, let the 
king marry whom he pleases, the husband of the 
Princess Mary shall be successor to the throne." 



* In the Memoir of Anne Boleyn, by Geo. Wyatt, a degcend- 
ant of the poet, is the following anecdote: "These things 
being perceived by the queen, she the oftener had her (Anae) 
at cards with her, that the king might have the less of her com- 
pany, and the lady the more excuse to be from him, and she 
also esteem herself more kindly used. She would, by way of en- 
tertainment, have a certain game, of which I recollect not the 
name, then much used, where in dealing, the king and queen 
meeting they stop; and the young lady's hap was much to stop 
at the king. The queen noting this, said to her playfully; " My 
Lady Anne, you have good hap to stop at a king; but you are 
like others, you will have all or none." 

Many a thing said in jest is realised in earnest. 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 14?^ 

After the usual introduction, Campeggio waited 
on the queen, first in private, and then in the com- 
pany of Wolsey, and four other prelates. Caven- 
dish has described this scene with his usual fidelity. 

" When Catharine was informed that they 
awaited her in her presence chamber, she rose from 
her favorite occupation of needle-work, and hasten- 
ing into the apartment Vv'here they stood, with a 
skein of silk about her neck, exclaimed — " Alack! 
my lords, sorry am I to make you wait; what is 
your pleasure with mel" " If it please your grace," 
said Wolsey, " to go into your privy chamber, v/e 
will show you the cause of our coming." " My 
lord," answered the queen, "if you have any thing 
to say, speak it openly before all these folks; for I 
fear nothing you can say or allege against me, but 
that I would all the world should hear and see it: 
therefore, I pray you, speak your minds openly." 
The cardinal then began to address her in Latin: 
" Nay, good my lord," interrupted Catharine, 
" speak to me in English, I beseech you; though I 
do understand some Latin." Then Wolsey pro- 
ceeded to explain the reason of their visit. — " My 
lords," interrupted the queen, "I thank you for 
your good will; but cannot return an answer to your 
requests so suddenly. I was sitting among my 
maidens at work, thinking fall little of any such 
matter, wherein there needeth a longer deliberation 
and a beiter head than mine, to make answer to 
men so noble and wise as ye be. I have need of 
good counsel in a case which toucheth me so near- 
ly: but as for any counsel or friendship that I can 
find in England, they are not to my profit. For- 
sooth, my lords, those in whom I intend to put my 
trust, are not here; they are in Spain; in my native 
country. Alas! my lords," continued this friend- 
less queen, " I am a poor woman, lacking both wit 
and understanding sufficiently to answer such ap- 
proved wise men as ye both be, in so weighty a 
matter; therefore, I pray you, be good unto me, and 
impartial, for I am a simple woman, destitute and 
13* 



150 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

barren of friendship in a foreign country; and your 
counsel also I shall be glad to hear." " Upon this," 
says Cavendish, who attended Wolsey on this oc- 
casion, " she took my lord by the hand, and led 
him into the privy chamber, with the other cardi- 
nal, where they were in long communication: we, 
in the other chamber, might sometimes hear the 
queen speak very loud, but what it was we could 
not understand." The cardinals repaired to the 
king, and informed him of the result of their mission, 
which appears to have been but little successful. 

Appearances having been saved by the tempo- 
rary retirement of Anne, Henry recalled her to court 
shortly after Christmas. The Bishop of Bayonne 
had foretold in one of his letters, that the king's 
passion would evaporate during her absence; in a 
subsequent letter to the French minister, he says; 
*' I acknowledge that I was no conjurer; and now, 
to tell you honestly my way of thinking, the king 
is so in for it [/e toy en est si avant^'] that nothing 
but a miracle can save him." But Anne now felt 
her power, and she determined to make use of it. 
She affected to resent the manner in which she 
had been treated; the king's letter and invitation 
were treated with contempt; and the only terms on 
which she would return were, that her rival, as she 
modestly called Catharine, should be removed from 
court, where she was determined to reign supreme. 
The Bishop of Bayonne's prognostications were ve- 
rified, and Anne's arrogant demands complied with. 
"At length," says the bishop, "Mademoiselle de 
Boulan, [the French always misspell English 
names,] has come back again, and the king has had 
a handsome suite of rooms splendidly furnished for 
her, close to his own, where there is daily held a 
levee more fully attended than any of the queen's 
have been for a long time past." The following 
notice in Hall is short, but touching: " The king 
kept his Christmas in Greenwich, with great so- 
lemnity, but all men said that there was no mirth 
in that Christmas because the queen was absent." 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 15l 

The following is a specimen of the solemn mock- 
ery exhibited in this affair; one of the English am- 
bassadors is directed officially to state; "that never 
was there any prince better contented and pleased 
with a woman, than the king with Catharine, nor 
ever prince more loved, cherished, and honored a 
woman, than the king my master hath done her, 
and would with heart, mind, and will keep her still 
as his wife, if C4od's holy law would suffer it!" 
(//a//, p. 782.) It is rarely that hypocrisy is alto- 
gether so brazen as this. 

Catharine, about this time, addressed a pathetic 
letter to the pontiff, in which she informed him of 
her banishment from court, and implored his pro- 
tection. Clement replied by an epistle to Henry, 
in which, for the last time, he attempted to awaken 
in his bosom, a sense of decency, if not of justice 
and religion. He painted in forcible terms, the 
horror in which his conduct caused his name to be 
regarded throughout Christendom. " He had been 
informed," he said, " that of late he had changed 
his conduct towards the Queen of England. For- 
merly, he had lived with her in his palace, and 
treated her, pending the controversy between them, 
with the respect due to a wife and a queen; but 
now, it was reported that he had removed her from 
his person and court, and even banished her from 
the city, taking in her room a certain lady of the 
name of Anne, with whom he lived, and to whom 
he showed that conj ugal love and affection which was 
due to the queen alone." These proceedings Clement 
declared himself unwilling to believe. " For what," 
said he, " can be more unnatural to 3^ou, or less con- 
sistent with your integrity, than, on the one hand, 
by your letters and ambassadors to implore our 
assistance in determining your cause, and, on the 
other, by your actions to prejudge and decide it for 
yourself? Alas! how little could we have expected 
to find this contempt for the authority of the Church, 
in him who has so ably defended our most holy 



152 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

faith by the strength of argument and by the power 
of the sword! It was a miserable thing," he con- 
tinued, "' that this one action, if the report that had 
reached hiin was true, should cast an everlasting 
blemish upon the glory of Henry's former life and 
behavior; and it was for this reason, that, as he 
could not overlook a matter of such moment, he was 
anxious to address to him the admonition of a lov- 
ing father, before he was compelled to proceed 
against him as a severe and im]>artial judge." In 
conclusion, the pontiff exhorted him, that, as he re- 
garded the favor of the Holy See, and tendered his 
own salvation, he would amend his ways, recall his 
injured queen, and dismiss her rival from his inti- 
mate and domestic conversation. 

But Henry was too far blinded by his impure 
passion, to listen to the counsels of this paternal let- 
ter. On the contrary, by awakening the fury of the 
woman, whose conduct was stigmatised, it only 
served to precipitate the measures that finally sepa- 
rated England from the communion of the Holy See. 

It is plain from the king's letters to Anne, that 
though her conduct had, in many instances been 
very equivocal, she had till now the reputation of a 
modest woman: old Fuller's expression is, that 
" she was cunning in her chastity." But in a letter 
of the Bishop of Bayonne of the ISth June follow- 
ing, we read, " 1 think, that for some time past, the 
king and Mademoiselle Anne have been more than 
usually intimate; the ministers must hasten mat- 
ters here, or certain signs of this intimacy, which 
it will be impossible to conceal, may spoil every 
thing." 

It is curious to hear how the court-historian tells 
the story: " The Emperor," says Hall, " soon 
grudged that the queen should be divorced; and 
surely, the most part of the lay-people of England, 
which knew not the law of God, sore murmured at 
the matter: and much the more, because there was 
a gentlewonnan in the court, called Anne Boleyn, 
whom the king much favored, in all honesty^ and 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 153 

surely none otherwise, as all the world well knew 
after. For this cause, the queen's ladies, gentle- 
women, and servants largely spake, and said that 
she so enticed the king, and brought him into such 
amours, that only for her sake and occasion he 
would be divorced from the queen. This was the 
foolish communication of people, contrary to the 
truth." (CAromc/e, p. 759.) 

Old Hall felt that he had an awkward task to 
perform, and he who is proverbially prolix on every 
other occasion, is wonderously brief on this. Bre- 
vity, they say, is the soul of wit, and so it may be 
of policy too, thought the wary Master Hall. 

In the meantime. Gardener, the king's envoy 
had been recalled from Rome, and a license was 
issued, empowering the legates to execute their 
commission. The legap'tine court was opened on 
the 18th of June, and on the ^Ist, the king and queen 
were summoned to appear. The latter obeyed, but 
protested against the judges, and appealed to the 
pope. At the next session, Henry sat in state on 
the right of the cardinals, and ariswered in due 
form to his name. Catharine was on their left: and, 
as soon as she was called, rising from her chair, 
renewed her protest on three grounds: because she 
was a stranger; because her judges held benefices 
in the realm, the gift of her adversary; and because 
she had good reason to believe, that justice could 
not be obtained in a court constituted like the pre- 
sent. On the refusal of the cardinals to admit her 
appeal, she rose a second time, crossed over before 
them, accompanied by her maids, threw herself at 
the king's feet, and thus addressed him in broken 
English: — " Sir, I beseech you for the love that 
hath been between us, and for the love of God, let 
me have justice and right; take of me some pity 
and compassion, for I am a poor woman and a 
stranger, born out of your dominions. I have here 
no assured friend, much less impartial counsel; and 
I flee to you, as to the head of justice within this 
realm. Alas! Sir, wherein have T oifended you, or 



154 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

what occasion given you of displeasure] Have I 
ever planned aught against your will and pleasure, 
that you should put me from you] I take God and 
all the world to witness, that I have been to you a 
true, humble, and obedient wife, ever conformable to 
your will and pleasure. Nor have I said or done 
aught contrary thereto, being always well-pleased 
and contented with all things wherein you had de- 
light, whether it were in little or much; neither did 
I ever grudge in word or countenance, or show in 
visage a spark of discontent. I loved all those 
whom you loved, only for your sake, whether I had 
cause or no, whether they were my friends or mine 
enemies. These twenty years I have been your 
true wife, and by me ye have had diverse children, 
although, saving my daughter, it hath pleased God 
to call them out of this world: and when ye mar- 
ried me, I take God to be my judge, that I was a 
true maid; and whether that be true or not, I put it 
to your conscience. If there be any just cause by 
the law that ye can allege against me, either of dis- 
honesty or any other impediment sufficient to ban- 
ish and put me from you, I am contented to depart, 
albeit to my great shame and dishonor; and if there 
be none, then here I most lowlily beseech you, let 
me remain in my former estate, and receive justice 
at your hands. The king, your father, was in the 
time of his reign, of such estimation through the 
world for his excellent wisdom, that he was called 
by all men, the second Solomon; and my father, 
Ferdinand of Spain, was esteemed one of the wisest 
princes that, for many years, had reigned in Spain. 
It is not, therefore, to be doubted, but that they 
elected as wise counsellors about them as to their 
high discretion was thought meet. Also, as me 
seemeth, there were in those days, as wise, as 
learned and judicious men, as be at this present, 
who then thought the marriage between you and 
me good and lawful; therefore, it is a wonder to 
hear that new inventions are brought up against 
me, who never intended aught but honesty. Ye 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 155 

cause me to stand to the order and judgment of this 
new court, wherein ye may do much wrong, if ye 
intend any cruelty; for ye may condemn me for lack 
of sufficient answer, having no impartial advis- 
ers but such as be assigned me, with whose wdsdom 
and learning I am not acquainted. Ye must con- 
sider that they who be your subjects cannot be im- 
partial counsellors for my part: they have been 
chosen out of your own council; they have been 
made privy to your deliberations; and they dare not, 
for fear of you, disobey your will, or oppose your 
intentions. Therefore, most humbly do I require 
you, in the way of charity, and for the love of God, 
who is the Just Judge, to spare me the extremity of 
this new court, until I learn what way my friends 
in Spain may advise me to take: but, if ye will not 
extend to me so much impartial favor, your plea- 
sure then be fulfilled, and to God I commit my 
cause." 

Having spoken thus, the queen burst into tears; 
and instead of returning to her seat, walked out of 
court, having first made a low obeisance to the 
king. An officer was commanded to recall her, and 
he again summoned her loudly. " Madame," said 
her receiver-general, on whose arm she leaned, "ye 
are again called." "• Go on," said she, " 1 hear it 
very well: but this is no court wherein I can have 
j ustice — proceed therefore." She then left the hall, 
and never again could be persuaded to make her 
appearance there, either personally or by proxy. 

This pathetic appeal, delivered with humility, 
and yet in the spirit of conscious innocence, made 
a deep impression on all present. Henry perceived 
this, and he took occasion to extol the queen in 
high terms, declaring that she had ever been a de- 
voted and dutiful wife. In this commendation the 
monarch seems to have forgotten, that, only a short 
time before, in a complaint made to the privy-coun- 
cil, he had declared, that from the manner in which 
Catharine had lately conducted herself, he believed 
she hated him, and that his counsellors, thinking 



156 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

his life was in danger, had advised him to with- 
draw himself entirely from her company.* 

" Whereas, a pure mind in a chaste body, is the 
mother of wisdom and deliberation, of sober counsels 
and ingenuous actions, of open deportment and sweet 
carriage, of sincere principles and unprejudiced un- 
derstanding; uncleanness, on the contrary, is the 
parent of these monsters— blindness of mind, in- 
consideration, precipitancy or giddiness in actions, 
timidity and poorness of spirit, and of unkindly arts 
and stratagems to hide crime, which do nothing but 
increase it." — Jeremy Taylor. 

During the whole of these discussions More 
acted with becoming prudence and reserve. He 
says in the letter to Crumwell, which we have al- 
ready cited; " During the whole time the legates 
sat upon the matter, I never meddled therewith, nor 
was it meet so to do; for the matter was in hand by 
an ordinary process of the spiritual law, whereof I 
had little skill." And he appears to congratulate 
himself on the circumstance, that, '^ while yet the 
legates were sitting upon the matter, it pleased the 
king's highness to send me, in the company of my 
lord of London, now of Durham, in an embassy to 
Cambray, about the peace, which, at our being 
there was concluded between his highness and the 
French king." It is evident that Sir Thomas 
looked upon this as a lucky escape; for immediately 
on his return home, he was again annoyed by the 
king upon this noisome affair. 

In some of the sittings of the court, the discussions 
were carried on with considerable warmth. Wolsey 
having observed that the point was doubtful, and 
that no man could know the truth — "Yes," said the 
Bishop of Rochester, " I for one know the truth." 
" You know the truth?" said my lord Cardinal. 
"Forsooth, my lord," said he, " I know that God 
is Truth itself, and He hath said; what God hath 
joined, let no man put asunder." "Yes," said 

* See Burnet, vol. i. p. 113. 



MIS LIFE AND TIME8. 157 

Doctor Ridley, '' it is a shame and a oreat disgrace 
to this honorable presence, that any allegations like 
these should be made in this open court, which to 
all good and hqnest men are detestable to be re- 
hearsed." '* So, so," said my lord Cardinal, 
" Bomine Dndur, magis reverenter — more reverently, 
good Doctor, by your leave." — " No, no, my lord," 
added he, "there belongeth no reverence to these 
abominable presumptions against the express words 
of Christ: an irreverent tale may be irreverently an- 
swered." " And then," says Cavendish, they left, 
and proceeded no farther at that time. When the 
cardinal took his barge with the Bishop of Carlisle, 
on his way back to Westminster, the bishop said 
to him, wiping the perspiration from his face, " my 
lord, the day is very hot." "Yea," quoth my lord 
cardinal, "if ye had been as well chafed, as 1 have 
been within this hour, ye would say it was very hot!" 

According to our notions of things, Anne Boleyn 
must have had tolerably strong nerves of her own, 
for Hall informs us, that she was present in the 
court, and sat out all these proceedings. And yet 
we can readily believe the fact, when we recollect 
her subsequent conduct on the news of Catharine's 
death being brought her; while Henry shed tears 
to her memory and ordered his household to wear 
mourning, she dressed herself in some of her gayest 
robes of yellow silk, and openly proclaimed her joy 
at being fairly rid of her rival. But ere six short 
months had elapsed, these yellow robes were to be 
tinged with a deeper dye. 

On the 23d of July, the court held its last session; 
and as a decision in favor of the king was anticipated, 
the hall was crowded. Henry himself was present, 
but concealed behind the hangings, where he could 
hear all that passed. When the cardinals had 
taken their seats, his majesty's counsel demanded 
judgment. But Campeggio replied: that judgment 
must be deferred till the whole of the proceedings 
had been laid before the sovereign pontiff, and for 
that purpose he pronounced the court adjourned to 
14 



158 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

the commencement of tke next term, in the begin- 
ning of October. This announcement produced a 
great sensation in the court, and the reader can 
easily imagine what were the feelings of the per- 
sonage behind the arras. Sympathising in his morti- 
fication, the Duke of Suffolk started from his seat, 
and striking the table, exclaimed with vehemence; 
" That never had they been merry in England, since 
a cardinal came among them!" Though Wolsey was 
aware of the risk he incurred of offending the roy- 
alty behind the curtain, yet he could not suffer this 
personal insult to pass unnoticed. Rising with dig- 
nity, he, with consummate address, uttered these 
words, which contain at once a spirited rebuke 
against Suffolk, and an apology for his ov/n con- 
duct. " Sir, of all men within this realm, ye have 
the-least reason to dispraise cardinals; for, but for 
me, simple cardinal as I am, you at this moment 
would have had no head upon your shoulders, and no 
tongue within your lips to make such a brag in dis- 
repute of us, w^ho intended you no manner of dis- 
pleasure. Know^ you, then, proud lord, that I, and 
my brother here, will give place neither to you nor 
to any other in honorable intentions to the king, and 
a desire to accomplish his lawful wishes. Bethink 
ye, my lord, were ye the king's commissioner in a 
foreign country, having a weighty matter to treat 
upon, would you venture to decide without first con- 
sulting your sovereign] Doubtless ye would con- 
sult, and right carefully too; and, therefore, I advise 
you to banish all hasty malice, and consider that we 
here are nothing but commissioners for a time; and 
dare not proceed to judgment without the know- 
ledge of our supreme head. It is for this cause that 
we do no more nor less than our commission allow- 
eth. Therefore, my lord, take my counsel; hold 
your peace, pacify yourself, and frame your words 
like a man of honor and of wisdom. Ye know best 
what friendship ye have received at my hands, and 
which I never before this time revealed to any one 
alive, either to my own glory, or to your dishonor." 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 159 

Suffolk, by his silence, seems to have acknowledged 
the truth of these secret circumstances to which the 
cardinal alluded, and the court broke up without 
further interruption. 

A letter from Secretary Gardiner to Wolsey, 
dated early in September, will show the nervous 
state of solicitude in which the king lived at this 
period. 

" And whereas your grace at the end of your let- 
ter, writeth that ye have certain things to show to 
the king's highness, which your grace thinketh not 
convenient to be committed to writing; 1 assure 
your grace, that at the reading thereof, his highness 
seemed altered and moved. Whereupon, as being 
troubled for the desire of further knowledge, and 
vainly conjecturing what it is that your grace doth 
not think convenient to be put into writing, the 
roads being sure, and without fear of interruption, 
and his highness knowing that your grace is not 
wont to spare any labors or pains in writing, when 
the case so requireth. Musing, and marvelling, 
therefore, more and more what the matter should 
be, he willed me with all diligence to despatch his 
grace's servant Curson, this bearer, with these let- 
ters to your grace, to desire you incontinently [di- 
rectly] to signify to the same the caput rei — the 
heads of the matters which your grace meaneth." 
He concludes by repeating his request, that he 
would send him "' the sumrtium et effectum, the head 
and bearing of your gracious mind, to the intent his 
highness may somewhat quiet his mind and cogi- 
tation, and muse no further than needs, upon occa- 
sion of the obscure words at the end of your grace's 
letter." 

In September Campeggio prepared for his de- 
parture, leaving the affair of the divorce in much 
the same position as when he came. Henry's pa- 
tience w^as worn out, his mistress was ready at 
hand to foster the growing discontent, and the un- 
successful negotiator with Rome was destined to 
bear the whole weight of the king's disappointment; 



160 HlR THOMAS MURE, 

and that, with Henry, was hut another word for ruin 
and disgrace. The symptoms of Wolsey's approachr 
ing fall were evident to every one hut himself, for 
he trusted the hollow professions of men, who, 
though they had served him faithfully in his pros- 
perity, were ready to hetray his confidence in his 
declining fortunes. " I see," says the Bishop of 
Bayonne, '•'that he confides in certain persons, who 
were the creatures of his hand, but who, I feel as- 
sured, have turned their backs upon him; and the 
worst of the business is, that he is unaware of all 
that is passing." But his greatest cause for fear, 
were the arts of a woman, whom we have just seen 
so solemnly assuring him that her gratitude ' should 
last unfeignedly during her life." An occasion 
Soon presented itself for Anne to weigh her influence 
with his, and his scale " kicked the beam." For 
some offence, Wolsey had driven Sir Thomas. 
Cheney from court; he appealed to the king's 
mistress, and Henry reprimanded the cardinal, and 
recalled the exile. She now no longer disguised her 
hostility; and eagerly seconded the Dukes of Nor- 
folk and Suffolk, and her father the Viscount Roch- 
ford, in their united efforts to precipitate the car- 
dinal's downfall. We learn from the Bishop of 
Bayonne that they had other motives, more sub- 
stantia] than merely their hatred to Wolsey; " The 
object of these noblemen is, that, when the minister 
is out of the way, or dead, to seize immediately 
upon the estates of the church — they talk of this 
freely over their cups. 1 fancy they will play up 
aline game when he is gone." 

Previous to Campeggio's departure, he went, ac- 
companied by Wolsey, to Grafton in Northhamp- 
tonshire, to take his leave of the king. Then it was 
that the cardinal's pride and hopes received their 
deathblow. On reaching the country seat where 
Henry was staying, being then on a progress with his 
mistress, Campeggio was immediately conducted 
to an apartment prepared for him, while Wolsey 
had the mortification to learn that no orders for his 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 161 

accommodation had been given. Sir Henry Norris, 
pitying his embarrassment, entreated him to make 
use of his room, where he learned from some of his 
friends the secret of the king's displeasure. Short- 
ly after, he was summoned to the presence cham- 
ber. The meeting is thus admirably described by 
Cavendish. '' At this time, the chamber was filled 
with noblemen who were only intent on observing 
the countenance of the king and him, and what re- 
ception he would give him. Immediately after 
came the king into the chamber, and standing under 
the cloth of state, my lord kneeled down before 
him, who took my lord by the hand, and so did he 
the other cardinal. Then he took up my lord by 
both arms, and caused him to stand with as amia- 
ble a cheer as ever he did. He then called him 
aside, and led him by the hand to a great window, 
where he talked with him, and caused him to be 
covered. Then," continues this minute observer, 
" could you have beheld the countenances of those 
who had made their wagers to the contrary, it 
would have made you smile; and thus were they 
all deceived, as well worthy for their presump- 
tion." Yet, though the courtiers lost their wagers, 
it was but a gleam of favor; and Wolsey soon dis- 
covered that the star of his high fortunes had set 
for ever. It was observed that Henry used angry 
words; and he was seen to pluck a letter from his 
bosom, and hold it up to the cardinal's face, as if 
demanding whether he could deny his hand-writing. 
The accused minister seemed to pacify him for the 
moment, and the conference ended with apparent 
courtesy on the part of the monarch. Ontakingleave, 
he requested him to return the followingmorning; but 
the king dined that same day with Anne Boleyn in 
her chamber, and her influence was irresistible. 
She took upon her to be offended at the cordial re- 
ception which Wolsey had obtained; painted him 
in the worst colors to Henry, and dwelt with pecu- 
liar bitterness upon the delays which he had occa- 
14* 



162 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

sioned in the progress of the divorce. Henry was 
too much infatuated by his criminal passion, to use 
his better judgment; and before he rose from table, 
to use the Bishop of Bayonne's words; " Mademoi- 
selle de Boulan had extorted a promise from her 
friend, that he would never more speak to Wolsey." 
This promise he faithfully kept, and he never again 
beheld the face of his old friend and adviser. 
When Wolsey next morning presented himself at 
the appointed time, he had the mortification to 
learn that the royal cavalcade had departed an hour 
earlier than had been arranged the evening previ- 
ous, evidently with a view to balk him of his in- 
tended audience with the king. Henry and Anne 
had gone to spend the day at Harewell Park, and 
did not return home till the cardinal, in consequence 
of a hint which he had received, had departed for 
London. 

This however was but the beginning of sorrows. On 
his return, twobills were filed against him in the Court 
of King's Bench, by which it was ultimately decided, 
"ThatCardinal Wolsey was out of the king's protec- 
tion, his lands, goods, and chattels forfeited, and that 
his person might be seized." On the same day, it was 
intimated to him that the king meant to take up his 
residence at York-place, and that he might retire 
to Esher, a seat belonging to the bishopric of Win- 
chester. That the very name of the Cardinal of 
York might, as far as possible, be obliterated. Hall 
informs us, that " the name of the place was 
changed; it was called the King's Manor of West- 
minster, and no longer York-Place." Is not the 
hand of Mademoiselle Anne visible here too] 

These combined mortifications plunged the poor 
cardinal into despair. He knew the stern temper 
of his prosecutor, and all that he had to dread from 
the ill-omened " night bird" — to use his own expres- 
sion, that possessed the royal ear. He resigned 
the seals to the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk, and 
transferred by deed his whole personal estate, which 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 163 

was valued at 500,000 crowns, to the king. Every 
resource of malice had been exhausted to add to his 
mortification. The news of his disgrace had been 
officiously circulated through the metropolis, so that 
on entering his barge, he was surprised to behold 
the Thames covered with boats, and lined with 
spectators. Both the courtiers and the citizens had 
crowded together to behold his arrest and com- 
mitment to the tower: but he disappointed their 
curiosity and their hopes, and landed at Putney, 
on ascending the hill near which place occurred 
the scene we have before had occasion to describe. 
{See above p. 73.) 

Among the lessons which history has taught to the 
pride of our nature, there are few more humbling 
than that of the latter days of Wolsey. Though it 
carries us somewhat from the course of our nar- 
rative, the reader who has gazed on this extraordi- 
nary man in the zenith of his greatness, will be 
anxious to know how he comported himself in his 
state of destitution — for, to the shame of his perse- 
cutors be it spoken, to such a state was he reduced. 
Hear what he says in a letter to Bishop Gardiner. 

"My house is in decay, and with every thing 
mete for household unprovided and unfurnished. 1 
have not apparel for my house, nor money to bring 
me thither [to York,] nor to live with till the pro- 
pitious time of the year shall come to remove 
thither. These things considered, Mr. Secretary, 
must needs make me in agony and heaviness; mine 
age therewith and sickness considered. Alas! Mr. 
Secretary, you, with other my lords, showed me 
that I should be otherwise furnished and seen unto. 
And if ye would please to show this to the king, it 
is not to be doubted but his highness would have 
consideration and compassion, augmenting my liv- 
ing, and appointing such things as should be con- 
venient for my furniture; which to do, shall be to 
the king's high honor, merit, and discharge of con- 
science; and to you great praise for the bringing of 
the same to pass, for your old bringer-up and loving 



IG4 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

friend. This kindness from the king's highness 
shall prolong rny life some little while, though it 
shall not be long. Remember, good Mr. Secretary, 
my poor degree, and what service I have done: and 
how, now approaching to death, I have to begin the 
world again. I beseech you, therefore, moved with 
pity and compassion, succor me in this my calamity, 
and to your power, which I know is great, relieve 
me; and I, with all mine, shall not only ascribe this 
my relief to you, but also pray God for the increase 
of your honor. And as my power shall increase, 
so i shall not fail to requite your kindness.* Writ- 
ten hastily at Esher, with the rude and shaking 
hand of your daily bedesman and assured friend." 

In a letter to Cromwell, of nearly the same date 
he says: " If his majesty, considering the little 
time that I have to live here in this world, by 
reason of such heaviness as I have conceived in my 
heart, with the meanness and -decay of the old house, 
would that I may have some convenient pension, 
such as the king's highness of his noble charity 
shall tliink mete. God is my judge, that I have 
no desire for tiie mire of this world, for, at this 
hour, I set no more by the riches and promotions 
of this world, than by the dust under my feet; but 
only for the declaration of the king's honor and 
high charity, and to have wherewith to do good 
deeds, and to help my poor servants and kinsfolk. 
At the reverence, therefore, of God, my own good 
Mr. Secretary, and my refuge, now set to your hand 
that I may come to a laudable end and repose, see- 
ing that I may be furnished after such a sort and 
manner, that I may end my short time and life to 
the honor of Christ's church, and of the prince. 
Written at Esher, with the trembling hand and 
heavy heart of your assiti-ed lover and bedesman." 

The Bishop of Bayonne, in a letter to the French 
minister in Paris, thus describes his visit to the fal- 



* In this little trait, we see the ruling passion of the ex- 
minister strong to the last. In his veriest destitution, the 
courtier breaks forth as active as ever. 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 165 

len cardinal. " I have been to visit Wolsey in his dis- 
tress, and have witnessed the most striking change 
of fortune. He detailed to me his hard case in 
the worst rhetoric that was ever heard. Both his 
tongne and his heart failed him. He recommended 
himself to the pity of the king- and Madame (Fran- 
cis I., and his mother,) with a world of sighs and 
tears: but, after all, there was nothing he said near 
so moving as his look and appearance. His face 
is dwindled to one half of its natural size. In 
truth his misery is such, that his enemies, English- 
men as they are, cannot help pitying him. They 
seem determined to carry things to extremities. As 
for his legation, the seals, his authority, &c., he 
thinks no more of them. He is willing to give up 
every thing, even the very shirt from his back, and 
to end his days in a hermitage, would but the king 
desist from his displeasure." He says in another 
place; " I see no hope for the cardinal; the Duke of 
Norfolk is chief of the council, and in his absence 
Suffolk, and above all, Madaraoiselle Anne rules 
the cabinet."* 

"Greatness," said Sir Thomas Overbury, half a 
century later, " comes not down by the same way 
it went up: the distance between the highest and 
the lowest fortune being often so very small a 
thing!" 

" The sudden and violent fall of a man from the 
pinnacle of greatness to an unexpected grave, is 
one of those tragic scenes in human affairs, which 
has a power over the heart, even when unaided 
by esteem; and often reflects back on his life an 
unmerited interest, which, though inspired by the 



* Cresacre speaks out in the honest simplicity of his day. 
" To what a strange pass v/as King Henry brought by doatiiig 
on Anne Boleyn! and yet, God knows, she had no qualities 
whereof he should so doat upon her. as evidently appeared 
when, for foul matters, he after a short time cut off her head, 
and proclaimed himself in open parliament to be a cuckold. 
This he never had been, if he had krpt himself to his first vir 
tuous Clueen, Catharine:" and he feelingly adds, " we see and 
feel these miseries as yet." 



166 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

downfall, is in some degree transferred to the fallen 
individual." — Sir J. Mackintosh. 

To appoint a successor to Wolsey in the Chan- 
cery, was an object of great importance; and, after 
some deliberation, this important and responsible 
office was conferred upon Sir Thomas More. The 
Duke of Norfolk became president of the cabinet, 
and the Duke of Suffolk, earl marshal; Sir Wil- 
liam Fitzwilliam received the appointments that 
More had held, and Dr. Stephen Gardiner was 
made secretary to the king: Anne Boleyn's father, 
soon after created Earl of Wiltshire, retained his 
former place. 

"It may justly excite surprise," observes Dr. 
Lingard, " that More should accept this dangerous 
office. With a delicate conscience, and a strong 
sense of duty, he was not a fit associate for less 
timorous colleagues: the difficulties, which, in the 
course of two years, compelled him to retire from 
court, must, even now, have stared him in the face: 
and it was still in his power to avoid, but uncertain 
if he could weather the storm." Had the following 
passage from a letter of More to Dr. Wilson been 
present to the historian's mind at the time he wrote 
the above, we think he would have somewhat qua- 
lified the passage. More says, that, on entering 
upon office, " no other commandment had I ever of 
his grace in good faith, saving that this knot his 
highness added thereto, that I should therein look 
first uato God, and after God unto him; which 
word was also the first lesson that his grace gave 
me what time I first came into his noble service, 
and neither a more indifferent commandment, nor a 
more gracious lesson could ever king, in my mind, 
give his counsellor, or any his other servant." 
Ilastell has the following reflection upon this sub- 
ject: " When we consider that Wolsey never 
truly loved him, nor that the king could conceive 
any great hope that he would be corrupted to speak 
against what was good and just, it was strange to 
see More thus advanced. It was, doubtless, the 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 167 

providence of God that so appointed it, that so 
great a light should not be concealed under a bushel, 
but shine to all within the house." 

The particulars of his instalment are not unworthy 
of being specified as a proof of the reverence for his 
endowments and excellences professed by the king, 
and entertained by the public, to whose judgment 
the ministers of Henry seemed virtually to appeal, 
with an assurance that the king's appointment 
would be ratified by the general voice.* " He was 
led between the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk up 
Westminster Hall to the Stone Chamber, and there 
they honorably placed him in the high judgment- 
seat of chancellor" (for the chancellor was, by his 
office, the president of that terrible tribunal). " The 
Duke of Norfolk, by the command of the king, spoke 
thus unto the people there with great applause and joy 
gathered together y'\ 

■^ It is rare to detect an inaccuracy in LinRarfl; Hume and 
others have led him into the following: "There were few in- 
ptances in which the seals had been entrusted to any but dii.f- 
iiified churchman, none in wliich they had been given to a simple 
kni^fht. On this account, he was accompanied to the star- 
chamber, by a crowd of bishops and noblemen,, and the Duke of 
INorfolk conducting him to his seat, pronounced an eulogium 
on his talents and virtues, &c." 

'J'he following instances where simple knights have been ho- 
nored with the chancellorship, are upon record. 

In IGth of IViward 3d, A. D. 1342, Sir Robert Bourchier, 
knight, was made chancellor. In ]373, the same monarch rais- 
ed 8ir Robert de Thorp, knighl, to the same office. In ]370, 
Rfchard li. made Sir Richard de la Scrope, chancellor. In 1383, 
Sir iMichael de la Pole had the great seal delivered to him by 
the same monarch. In 1410, iii the reign of Henry IV., Sir 
Thomas Beaufort, knight, was rnade lord chancellor. 

t This joy app>'ars to have been general, with the exception 
of certain spirits soured by the German leaven, which they had 
brought with them from over the water. iN'orethus speaks of 
the leader of the party, who was his great opponent: 

" TyndaM was fain to make a show of his high worldly wit, 
and that men should see that there was nothing done among 
princes, but he was fully advertised of all ti)eir secrets. Thus 
he would have it known that he wasii;fovmed of the private 
dealings between the king's highness, and the late lord cardinal, 
and the Reverend father Cuthbert, then Bishop of London, and 
myself, that it was wittly devised that the cardinal should 
leave the chancellorship to me, and the bishopric of Durham 
to my said lord of London, for a while, till he list himself to 
take them both again. Was not this a wily devise, trow ye?" 



168 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

"The king's majesty (which I pray God, may 
prove happy and fortunate to the whole realm of 
England) hath raised to the most hi^h dignity of 
chancellorship sir Thomas More, a man for his ex- 
traordinary worth and sufficiency well known to him- 
self and the whole realm, for no other cause or 
earthly respect, but for that he hath plainly perceiv- 
ed all the gifts of nature and grace to be heaped 
upon him, which either the people could desire, or 
himself wish, for the discharge of so great an office. 
For the admirable wisdom, integrity, and innocency, 
joined with most pleasant facility of wit, that this 
man is endowed withall, have been sufficiently 
known to all Englishmen from his youth, and for 
these many years also to the king's majesty himself. 
This hath the king abundantly found in many and 
weighty affairs, which he hath happily despatched 
both at home and abroad; in diverse offices which be 
hath borne, in most honorable embassages which he 
hath undergone; and in his daily counsel and advice 
upon all other occasions. He hath perceived no 
man in his realm to be more wise in deliberating, 
more sincere in opening to him what he thought, 
nor more eloquent to adorn the matter which he ut- 
tered. Wherefore, because he saw in him such ex- 
cellent endowments, and that of his especial care he 
hath a particular desire that his kingdom and peo- 
ple might be governed with all equity and justice, in- 
tegrity and wisdom; he of his own most gracious 
disposition hath created this singular man lord chan- 
cellor; that, by his laudable performance of this 
office, his people may enjoy peace and justice; and 
honor also and fame may rebound to the whole 
kingdom. It may perhaps seem to many a strange 
and unusual matter, that this dignity should be be- 
stowed upon a laymen, none of the nobility, and 
one that hath wife and children; because heretofore 
none but singular learned prelates, or men of great- 
est nobility, have possessed this place; but what is 
wanting in these respects, the admirable virtues, the 
matchless gifts of wit and wisdom of this man doth 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 169 

most plentifully recompense the same. For the 
king's majesty hath not regarded how great, hut 
what a man he was; he hath not cast his eyes upon 
the nobility of his blood, but on the worth of his 
person; he hath respected his sufficiency, not his 
profession; finally, he would show by this his 
choice, that he hath some rare subjects amongst the 
ranks of gentlemen and laymen, who deserve to 
manage the highest offices of the realm, which 
bishops and noblemen think they only can de- 
serve. The rarer therefore it was, so much both 
himself held it to be the more excellent, and to his 
people he thought it would be the more grateful. 
Wherefore, receive this your chancellor with, joyful 
acclamations, at whose hands you may expect all 
happiness and content." 

" Sir Thomas More, according to his wonted mo- 
desty, was somewhat abashed at this the duke's 
speech, in that it sounded so much to his praise; 
but recollecting himself, as place and time would 
give him leave, he answered in this sort: — ' Al- 
though most noble duke, and you, right honorable 
lords, and worshipful gentlemen, I know all these 
things, which the king's majesty, it seemeth, hath 
been pleased should be spoken of me at this time and 
place, and your grace hath with most eloquent 
words thus amplified, are as far from me, as I could 
wish with all my heart they were in me, for the bet- 
ter performance of so great a charge; and although 
this your speech hath caused in me greater fear 
than I can well express in words; yet this incom- 
parable favor of my dread sovereign, by which he 
showeth how well, yea how highly he conceiveth 
of my weakness, having commanded that my mean- 
ness should be so greatly commended, cannot be 
but most acceptable unto me: and I cannot choose 
but give your most noble grace exceeding thanks, 
that what his majesty hath willed you briefly to ut- 
ter, you, of the abundance of your love unto me, 
have in a large and eloquent oration dilated. As 
for myself, I can take it no otherwise, but that his 
15 



170 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

majesty's incomparable favor towards me, the good 
will and incredible propension of his royal mind 
(wherewith he hath these many years favored me 
continually), hath alone, without any desert of mine 
at all, caused both this my new honor, and these 
your undeserved commendations of me. For who 
am I, or what is the house of my father, that the 
king's highness should heap upon me, by such a per- 
petual stream of affection, these so high honors'? I 
am far less than any the meanest of his benefits be- 
stowed on me; how can I then think myself worthy 
or fit for this so peerless a dignity] I have been 
drawn by force, as the king's majesty often profes- 
seth, to his highness's service, to be a courtier; and 
to take this dignity upon me, is most of all against 
my will. Yet such is his highness's benignity, such 
is his bounty, that he highly esteemelh the small 
dutifulness of his meanest subjects, and seeketh still 
magnificently to recompense his servants; not only 
such as deserve well, but even such as have but a 
desire to deserve well at his hands, in which number 
I have always wished myself to be, reckoned, be- 
cause I cannot challenge myself to be one of the 
former. This being so, you may all perceive with 
me how great a burden is laid upon my back; in 
that I must strive in some sort with my diligence 
and duty to correspond with his royal benevolence, 
and to be answerable to that great expectation, which 
he and you seem to have of me; wherefore, those 
so high praises are so much more grievous unto 
me, by how much more 1 know the greater charge I 
have to render myself worthy of, and the fewer 
means I have to make them good. This weight is 
hardly suitable to my weak shoulders; this honor 
is not correspondent to my poor desert: it is a bur- 
den, not a glory; a care, not a dignity; the one there- 
fore I must bear as manfully as I can, and discharge 
the other with as much dexterity as I shall be able. 
The earnest desire which I have always had, and 
do now acknowledge myself to have, to satisfy by all 
the means I possibly can, the most ample benefits of 
his highness, will greatly excite and aid me to the 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 171 

diligent performance of all, which I trust also I 
shall be more able to do, if I find all your good wills 
and wishes both favorable unto me, and conform- 
able to his royal munificence; because my serious 
endeavors to do well, joined with your favorable 
acceptance, will easily procure that whatsover is 
performed by me, though it be in itself but small, 
yet it will seem great and praiseworthy; for those 
things are always achieved happily, which are ac- 
cepted willingly; and those succeed fortunately, 
which are received by others courteously. As you, 
therefore, hope for great matters and the best at 
ray hands, so, though I dare not promise any such, 
yet do I promise truly and affectionately to perform 
the best I shall be able." 

When Sir Thomas More had spoken these words, 
turning his face to the high judgment seat of the 
Chancery, he proceeded in this manner: — ' But when 
I look upon this seat, when I think how great and 
what kind of personages have possessed this place 
before me, when I call to mind who he was that 
sate in it last of all — a man of what singular wisdom, 
of what notable experience, what a prosperous and 
favorable fortune he had for a great space, and how 
at the last he had a most grievous fall and died in- 
glorious — I have cause enough, by my predecessor's 
example, to think honor but slippery, and this dig- 
nity not so grateful to me as it may seem to others; 
for both is it a hard matter to follow with like paces 
or praises, a man of such admirable wit, prudence, 
authority, and splendor, to whom I may seem but 
as the lighting of a candle when the sun is down; 
and also the sudden and unexpected fall of so great a 
man as he was, doth terribly put me in mind that this 
honor ought not to please me too much, nor the lus- 
tre of his glittering seat dazzle mine eyes. Where- 
fore I ascend this seat as a place full of labor and 
danger, void of all solid and true honor; the which 
by how much the higher it is, so much the great- 
er fall I have to fear, as well in respect of the 
very nature of the thing itself, as because I am 



172 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

warned by this late fearful example. And truly I 
might even now, at this very entrance, stumble, 
yea faint, but that his majesty's most singular favor 
towards me,' and all your good wills, which your 
joyful countenance doth testify in this most honor- 
able assembly, do somewhat recreate and refresh 
me; otherwise this seat would be no more pleasing 
to me, than that sword v/as to Damocles, which 
hung over his head, tied only by a horse-hair when 
he had store of delicate fare before him, seated in 
the chair of state of Dionysius the Tyrant of Si- 
cily. This therefore shall always be fresh in my 
mind, this will I have still before mine eyes, that 
this seat will be honorable, famous, and full of glory 
unto me, if I shall with care and diligence, fidelity 
and wisdom, endeavor to do my duty, and shall per- 
suade myself that the enjoying thereof may be but 
short and uncertain: the former my labor ought to 
perform; the latter my predecessor's example may 
easily teach me. All which being so, you may 
easily perceive whether I take a greater pleasure in 
this high dignity, or in this most noble duke's prais- 
ing of me." 

" And as they had before charged him," adds 
Roper, " on the king's behalf, uprightly to admi- 
nister justice to the people, without corruption or 
partiality; so did he likewise charge them again, 
that, if they at any time saw him in any respect 
digress from any part of his duty in that honorable 
office, even as they would discharge their own duty 
and fidelity to God and the king, so should they not 
fail to disclose it to his grace, who might otherwise 
have just occasion to lay his faults wholly to their 
charge." 

When it is recollected that this speech was deli- 
vered extempore, and upon that difficult subject a 
man's self, it is impossible to withhold our admira- 
tion. There is something striking in the anticipa- 
tions in the closing part of it, that he should not 
long enjoy his dangerous pre-eminence. 

" All the world now took notice of Sir Thomas's 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 173 

dignity, whereof Erasmus writetii to John Fab ius, 
bishop of Vienna, thus: — ' Concerning the new in- 
crease of honor lately happened to Thomas More, 1 
should easily make you believe it, were I to show 
you the letters of many famous men, rejoicing with 
much alacrity, and congratulating the king, the 
realm, himself, and also me, for More's honor, in 
being made lord chancellor of England.' " 

When Sir Thomas More was seated in the court 
of chancery, his father. Sir John More, who was 
nearly of the age of ninety, was the most ancient 
judge of the king's bench. " What a grateful 
spectacle was it," says their descendant, " to see 
the son ask the blessing of the father every day upon 
his knees, before he sat upon his own seat!" Even 
in a more unceremonious age, the simple character of 
More would have protected these daily rites of jEilial 
reverence from the suspicion of affectation, which 
could alone destroy their charm. But at that time, 
it must have borrowed its chief power from the con- 
spicuous excellence of the father and son. For if, as 
Sir J. Mackintosh remarks, inward worth had then 
borne any proportion to the grave and reverend cere- 
monial of the age, we might be well warranted in re- 
garding our forefathers as a race of superior beings.* 



* In relating this anecdote, Slaplf;ton adds: "This was a 
good old custom of our land. I<,very day, morning and evening, 
the children are accustomed to come and on bended knee 
ask the blessing of their parents. Did this good custom 
still obtain, it might be that parents would have children more 
dutiful, tile state more obedient subjects, and the church more 
reverend and faithful sons." 

In Chamberlain's collection of Heads by Holbein, to which 
we have before had occasion to refer, is a highly interesting 
portrait of More'ti father. The editor observes — "This is the 
head of a wise man, and flolbein's pencil has seldom betm ac- 
cused of infidelity." It e.xactly corresponds to his son's de- 
scription; "A man of courteous and pleasant manners, harmless, 
gentle, full of compassion, just and incorrupt, old indeed in 
years, yet fresh for his age in bodily strength." We may add, 
that it has all the character of Sir Thomas, the same play of 
humor about the lip, and the same arch expression in the eye. 

As we are on the subject of protraits, it should not be forgot- 
ten, that there is a remarkable resemblance between Holbein's 
iieads of More and his friend Erasmus. 

15* 



174 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

The plain attire and dig-nified simplicity of Sir 
Thomas formed a singular contrast to the pomp and 
circumstance in which his predecessor made his 
daily visits to the court of chancery. We quote 
the narrative of Cavendish for its minute and gra- 
phic fidelity. 

"Now will I declare unto you his [Wolsey's] or- 
der in going to Westminster Hall, daily, in the term 
season. First, before his coming out of his privy 
chamber, he heard most commonly every day two 
masses in his privy closet, and then said his daily ser- 
vice with his chaplain: and as I heard his chaplain 
say, being a man of credence and of excellent learn- 
ing, that the cardinal, what business or weighty mat- 
ters soever he had in the day, never went to his bed 
with any part of his divine service unsaid, yea, not 
so much as one collect: wherein I doubt nor but he 
deceived the opinion of divers persons. And after 
mass he would return to his privy chamber again, 
and being advertised of the furniture of his cham- 
bers without with noblemen, gentlemen, and other 
persons, would issue out unto them, apparelled all 
in red, in the habit of a cardinal: which was either 
of fine scarlet, or else of crimson satin, taflfaty, da- 
mask or caffa, the best that he could get for mo- 
ney: and upon his head a round pillion, with a no- 
ble of black velvet set to the same in the inner side; 
he had also a tippet af fine sables about his neck; 
holding in his hands a very fair orange, whereof 
the meat or substance within was taken out and 
filled up again with the part of a sponge, wherein 
was vinegar, and other confections against the pes- 
tilent airs; the which he most commonly smelt unto 
passing among the press, or else when he was pes- 
tered with many suitors. There was also borne 
before him, first, the great seal of England, and then 
his cardinal's hat, by a nobleman or some worthy 
gentleman, right solemnly, bareheaded. And as 
soon as he was entered into his chairi!>3r of presence, 
where there were attending his cou.iiig, to wait up- 
on him to Westminster Hall, as well noblemen and 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 175 

other worthy gentlemen, as noblemen and gentlemen 
of his own tamily; thus, passing- forth with two 
great crosses of silver borne before him, also with 
two great pillars of silver, and his poursuivant at 
arms with a great mace of silver gilt. Then his 
gentlemen ushers cried, and said, " On, my lords 
and masters, on before; make way for my lord's 
grace!" Thus passed he down from his chamber 
through the hall; and w^hen he came to the hall 
door, there was attendant for him his mule, trapped 
altogether in crimson velvet, and gilt stirrups. 
When he was mounted, with his cross bearers, and 
pillar bearers, also upon great horses trapped with 
fine scarlet, then marched he forward, with his 
train and furniture in manner as I have declared, 
having about him four footmen, with gilt pollaxes 
in their hands; and thus he went until he came to 
"Westminster Hall door. And there he alighted, and 
went after this manner, up through the hall into the 
chancery." 

Nor was the contrast less striking within the court, 
than from without. No application could be made 
to Wolsey, which did not pass through many hands; 
and no man could apply, whose fingers were not tip- 
ped with gold. Bur More sat daily in an open hall, 
that he might receive in person the petitions of the 
poor. If any reader should blame his conduct in this 
respect as a breach of an ancient and venerable pre- 
cept, " Ye shall do no unrighteousness in judgment; 
thou shalt not respect the person of the poor, nor 
honor the person of the mighty; but in righteous- 
ness shalt thou judge thy neighbor:*" let it be re- 
membered, that there still clung to the equitable 
jurisdiction some remains of that precarious and 
eleemosynary nature from which it originally sprung; 
which, in the eyes of the compassionate chancellor, 
might warrant more preference for the helpless poor 
than could be justified in proceedings more rigorous- 
ly legal. This and the following are the remarks 
of Sir J. Mackintosh. 

* Leviticus, xiy. 15. 



176 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

Courts of law were jealous then, as since, of the 
power assumed by chancellors to issue injunctions 
t<5 parties to desist from doing certain acts which 
they were by law entitled to do, until the court of 
chancery should determine whether the exercise of 
the legal right would not work injustice. There 
are many instances in which irreparable wrong 
may be committed, before a right can be ascertained 
in the ordinary course of proceedings. In such ca- 
ses it is the province of the chancellor to take care 
that affairs shall continue in their actual condition 
until the questions in dispute be determined. A 
considerable outcry against this necessary, though 
invidious authority, was raised at the commence- 
ment of More's chancellorship. He silenced this 
clamor with his wonted prudence and meekness. 
Having caused one of the six clerks to make out a 
list of the injunctions issued by him, or pending be- 
fore him, he invited all the judges to dinner. He 
laid the list before them; and explained the circum- 
stances of each case so satisfactorily, that they all 
confessed that in the like case they would have done 
no less. Nay, he offered to desist from the juris- 
diction, if they would undertake to restrict the law 
within the boundaries of righteousness, which he 
thought they ought in conscience to do. The judges 
declined, making the attempt; on which he observed 
privately to Roper, that he saw they trusted to their 
influence for obtaining verdicts, which would shift 
the responsibility from them to the juries. " Where- 
fore," said he, " I am constrained to abide the ad- 
venture of their blame." 

Dauncey, one of his sons-in-law, alleged that, 
under Wolsey "even the door-keepers got great 
gains," and so perverted was he by the venality then 
practised, that he expostulated with More for his 
churlish integrity. The chancellor said, that if 
" his father whom he reverenced dearly, were on 
one side, and the devil, whom he hated with all his 
might, on the other, the devil should have his right." 
*' He is represented by his descendant," says Sir 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 177 

J. Mackintosh, "as softening- his answer by promis- 
ing- minor advantages, such as priority of hearing-, 
and recommendation of arbitration, where the case 
of a friend was bad. The biographer, however, not 
being a lawyer, might have misunderstood the con- 
versation, which had to pass through more than one 
generation before the tradition reached him; or the 
words may have been a hasty effusion of good na- 
ture, uttered only to qualify the roughness of his 
honesty. If he had been called to perform these 
promises, his head and heart would have recoiled 
alike from breaches of equality which he would 
have felt to be altogether dishonest. When Heron, 
another of his sons-in-law, relied upon the bad prac- 
tice of the times so far as to entreat a favorable 
judgment in a cause of his own. More, though the 
most affectionate of fathers, immediately undeceived 
him by an adverse decree. This act of common 
justice is made an object of panegyric by the biogra- 
pher, as if it were then deemed an extraordinary in- 
stance of virtue; a deplorable symptom of that cor- 
rupt state of general opinion, which, half a century 
later, contributed to betray into ignominious vices, 
the wisest of men, and the most illustrious of chan- 
cellors, — if the latter distinction be not rather due to 
the virtue of a More or a Somers."* 

"The king," says Hall, "began his high court 
of Parliament, the third of November, this year; on 
which day, he came by water to his palace of Bride- 
well, and there he and his nobles robed, and so went to 
the Black Friars' church, where amass of the Holy 
Ghost was solemnly sung; after which the king re- 
paired to the parliament chamber, where, when he 
was seated on the throne, Sir Thomas More, his 
chancellor, standing on his right hand, made an elo- 
quent oration, declaring that, like as a good shepherd, 
who not only keepeth and attendeth well his sheep, 

* Of the greater proportion of his brethren in office how 
justly might More have exclaimed with the magistrate in 
i'iautiis; Homunculi guanti sunt cum recogito! 

What puny creatures, when I take their measure! 



SIR THOMAS MORE, 



but also provideth for all things that either may be 
hurtful to the flock, or may preserve and defend 
them ag-ainst all perils: so the king, who was the 
shepherd, ruler, and governor of this realm, vigilant- 
ly foreseeing things to come, considered how diverse 
laws, by the mutation of things, are insufficient and 
imperfect, and also by the frail condition of man, 
diverse new enormities were sprung up among the 
people, for the reform of which there was yet no 
law, which was the very cause why, at this time, the 
king had summoned his high court of parliament. 
And so he resembled the king to a shepherd: and as 
you see that, amongst a great flock, some are rotten 
and faulty, which the good shepherd severeth from 
the sound sheep, so the great wether, which is of late 
fallen, as you all know, juggled with the king so 
craftily, scabbedly, and untruly, that all men must 
think that he imagined that the king had no sense 
to perceive his crafty doings, or presumed that he 
would not see or understand his fraudulent juggling 
and attempts. But he was deceived; for his grace's 
sight was so quick and penetrable, that he not only 
saw him, but saw through him; so that he was en- 
tirely open to him. According to his desert, he 
hath had a gentle correction; which meek punish- 
ment he would not should be an example to other of- 
fenders; but openly declareth, that whosoever here- 
after shall make the like attempts, or counsel the 
like offences, shall not escape with the like punish- 
ment." 

It must be confessed that the phrase " great rotten 
wether," as alluding to VVolsey, is in bad taste, and 
altogether unworthy of More; it looks too like a dis- 
position to cater to the bad feelings of his royal 
master, who was present. The only thing to be 
pleaded in More's excuse, is the general odium that 
at this moment prevailed against the attainted car- 
dinal, the influence of which some of the best men 
of that day could not escape. Tytler, contrasting 
this coarse phrase with the bold euiogium of the 
cardinal, pronounced scarcely a month before, thinks 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 179 

that " the two statements are not altog^ether incon- 
sistent. The praise is g-iven to Wolsey's talents for 
business, which were undoubtedly of a hig-h order; 
the censure is directed against his want of integrity, 
and his subtle and crafty administration, — faults noto- 
rious to all the country, and which tlie new chan- 
cellor, though he might have selected a more deli- 
crate appellation, was justified in laying to his 
charge." Whether this explanation should satisfy 
the reader, we are not altogether prepared to say. 
It should not, however, be forgotten that the reporter 
of this speech is Hall, the court historian, whose 
prejudice both to More and Wolsey, is notorious. 
So indefatigable was Sir Thomas in his applica- 
cation to business, and despatched the causes before 
him so rapidly, that having one day ended a cause, 
and called for the next, he received for answer, that 
not a single cause remained. This fact he ordered to 
be entered upon record; and deservedly so, as it is 
probably the only miracle of the kind mankind will 
ever witness. This fact gave rise to the following 
epigram: 

When More somewhile had chancellor been. 

No more smtsdid remain; 
The same shall never more be seen. 

Till ft] ORE be there again. 

It was evident that he performed the work of pub- 
lic utility with the relish of an amateur, and not 
according to the mere routine of office; his was the 
feeling of a character in old Plautus: 

Q.uid est suavius quam berte rem gerere bono publico! 

What task more grateful can a man fulfil. 
Than to discharge the public duty well! 

More's turn for drollery did not forsake him, even 
in his highest elevation. On one occasion, an at- 
torney whose name was Tubb, handed Sir Thomas a 
case, requesting his signature to it. On reading it 
over, and finding it a frivolous matter, instead of his 
signature he added — a tale of a tub. The attorney 



180 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

gravely marched away with the paper; nor did he 
discover the joke, till he found the laugh going, 
against him, when the document was reproduced in 
court. 

It had been whispered soon after the disgrace of 
the cardinal, that an attack was meditated by the 
new ministers, upon the property of the church. A 
letter signed by the majority of the lords spiritual 
and temporal was addressed to the Pope, in July, 
in which it was represented how much they and the 
whole body of the nation, were interested in the 
king's divorce, with a request that he w^ould expe- 
dite the affair, in order to render it unnecessary to re- 
sort to more disagreeable remedies. Wolsey, though 
in the midst of his fallen fortunes, willingly subscrib- 
ed the document: the name of More is not found in 
the list. In the event of Clement's refusal, Norfolk, 
the Earl of Wiltshire, and other creatures of the king, 
had determined that the marriage should be dissolved 
by the absolute authority of parliament; from the ob- 
sequiousness of which they expected to be able to 
effect all they wished. They found, however, that 
they had calculated wrongly, and that there were 
some men of unbending principles, whom no 
threats or flattery could win over to injustice. 
Several of the bishops took their stand against the 
measure,* and among them there was one champion 
at least, for the good'Cause, v^hose integrity, learn- 
ing, and weight of opinion, there was no resisting. 
This was Bishop Fisher, who thus boldly exposed 
the designs against the church; " I hear," said 
he, " that a motion has been made to surrender the 
smaller monasteries into the king's hands. I hear 
much anxiety expressed for the reformation of the 
vicious lives of the clergy, but I suspect that it is 
not so much the good, as the goods, of the church 
that men are now looking after. Beware, my lords,'' 



* Many of the bishops frowned and grunted," is the un- 
courtly phrase of Hall, the Court-historian. 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 181 

he exclaimed with great earnestness, " beware of 
yourselves, of your country, your religion, and your 
Holy mother, the Catholic church. Thore are no- 
velties abroad; Lutherisra is spreading among the 
people, and let me beseech you to remember, from 
the recent miseries of Germany and Bohemia, 
what disasters, from the same causes, are impend- 
ing over ourselves. Resist then," he concluded, 
" resist manfully, my lords, as becomes ye, the 
mischiefs intended; or, if you do not, be prepared to 
see all obedience withdrawn not only from the cler- 
gy, but from yourselves." This spirited address 
was received with different feelings, according as 
the peers were inclined to favor or to take alarm at 
the king's designs; but the Duke of Norfolk, whose 
schemes it exposed, could not repress his resent- 
ment. "My lord of Rochester," said he, "many 
of these words might have been spared; but if I 
trow, 'tis often seen that the greatest clerks are not 
always the wisest men:" to which Fisher retorted, 
" my lord Duke, I do not remember any fools in 
my time that have proved great clerks." Complaint 
was made to Henry, of the bishop's boldness, and he 
was enjoined to express himself more guardedly in 
future^a temperate rebuke, which may be ascribed 
to the suspense in which Henry's mind then remain- 
ed respecting the measure in question. 

Sir Thomas had been a very short time installed 
in office, when the old and odious subject — the di- 
vorce, was again obtruded upon him. More endea- 
vored to excuse himself from offering an opinion, un- 
der the plea, that he was unmeet for such matters, 
never having professed the study of divinity. But 
the king " sorely'''' pressed him,* and never ceased 
urging him until he had promised to give his con- 
sent, at least, to examine the question, conjointly 
with his friend Tunstall and other learned divines. 
After the examination, More, with his wonted inge- 



* Roper, p. 32. 
16 



183 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

nuousness and candour, conveyed the result to his 
master. "To be plain with your grace, neither 
your bishops, wise and virtuous though they be, nor 
myself, nor any other of your council, by reason of 
your manifold benefits bestowed on us, are meet 
counsellors for your grace herein. If you mind to 
understand the truth, consult St. Jerome, St. Augus- 
tin, and other holy doctors of the Greek and Latin 
churches, who will not be inclined to deceive you 
either out of respect for their own worldly interests, 
or by fear of your princely displeasure."* Though 
the king did not like what " was disagreeable to 
his desires, yet the language of More was so wisely 
tempered, that for the present he took it in g-ood 
part, and oftentimes had conferences with the chan- 
cellor thereon." The native meekness of More 
was probably more effectual than all the arts by 
which courtiers ing-ratiate themselves, or insinuate 
unpalatable counsel. 

Shortly after, the king- again moved him to weigh 
and consider the g^reat matter. The chancellor fell 
down on his knees, and, reminding Henry of his 
own w^ords on delivering the great seal, which 
were — " First look upon God, and after God upon 
me," added, that nothing had ever so pained him 
as that he was not able to serve his grace in that 
matter, without a breach of that original injunction 
which he had received on the acceptance of his 
office. The king said he was content to accept his. 
service otherwise, and would continue his favor, 
never with that matter molesting his conscience 
afterwards. But this language proceeded from 
Henry's heart as it should have been, and not, as we 
shall find, from what it icas. 

In the meantime, as the journey of the legate tO' 
England, and all the king's tortuous negotiations 
with the See of Rome, had not tended to expedite 
the divorce, ingenuity had recourse to other me- 
thods for bringing it about. 

* Roper, p. 48. 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 183 

The opinions of the two universities at home, 
had already been secured, partly by means of gold, 
and partly by the power of threats. Honest old 
Cavendish says; " The commissioners had the 
travail, yet were the charg-es the king's. I heard 
it repeated of credible persons, that, besides the 
great charges of these commissioners, there were 
inestimable sums of money given to the famous 
clerks to choke them, and in especial to such as had 
the governance and custody of the universities' 
seals. " Burnet," says Hallam, " will not allow 
that Henry menaced the University of Oxford in 
case of non-compliance, yet there are three letters 
of his to them, a tenth part of which, considering 
the nature of the writer, was enough to terrify a 
doctor of divinity." For proof of his assertion, he 
refers to Strype. 

Having succeeded so well at home, he hoped to be 
able to obtain an equally favorable opinion from the 
various universities of Italy, France, and Germany, 
and for this purpose recourse was had to all those 
arts by which the venal, the unsuspecting, and 
sometimes even the good and the wise, are wrought 
upon. Nothing was spared— artifice, entreaty, or 
bribery,* but more particularly, the latter. Seve- 
ral of the universitips of Italy and France were in- 
duced to decide in favor of the king, but in the Ger- 
man states he was not so successful. Not one pub- 
lic body could be brought to espouse his cause; 
even the reformed divines, with a few exceptions, 
loudly condemned the measure. Luther, of course, 
was not to be won; he had not forgotten his old 
grudge to Henry, and he wrote with his own hand 
to Barnes, the royal agent, that he would rather 
allow the king to have two wives at once, than to 

* Nullo non astu, et prece, et pretio. 

Epist. dementis apud Raynald, p. 647. 

For r am sure the king 
Paid ere he prnrnised; whence his suit was granted 
Ere he had asked. 

Shakspea-Re.— 7/cnry VIII. 



184 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

consent to his separation from Catharine. There 
might also have been a secret feeling, an old a,sso- 
ciation active in Luther's bosom: there had been a 
question in his regard, of a separation from a Catha- 
rine — a certain Catharine Borer, which might have 
weighed with him by a peculiar sympathy at this 
time. 

In the midst of these schemes, news arrived from 
Rome, that Clement, after due deliberation, felt 
compelled to issue an inhibitory breve, forbidding 
all ecclesiastical courts or tribunals to give judg- 
ment in the matrimonial cause of Henry against 
Catharine. The idng was observed to grow unu- 
sually pensive. He found all his schemes to bring 
about the divorce abortive. He began to exhibit 
symptoms of a change of mind. All his expedi- 
ents had failed, and considerable sums of money, 
which he could ill spare, had been lavished without 
effect. He grew discontented; and observed to his 
confidents that he had been grossly deceived: he 
should never have dreamed of a divorce had it not 
been put into his head that the bull of dispensation 
had been invalid. He had been afterwards assured 
that the papal approbation might be easily obtained: 
that assurance had proved false, and he would now 
abandon the attempt for ever. In this frame of 
mind, meeting with Dr. Clark, the Bishop of Bath, 
he said to him, in a tone of impatience: " My lord 
of Bath, what think ye, is the bull good, or is it 
nanght] If it be naught, let it be so declared; and 
if good, then it shall never be set aside by me." 
{Herbert.) The Wyatts, the Brians, and all the 
other intrigants of the court, who were something 
more than the favorers and partisans of Anne, hast- 
ened to whisper in her ear the news of the king's 
" backsliding." Dismay was painted on the coun- 
tenances of the mistress, and of those who fed upon 
her bounty and her smiles. Their disgrace was 
confidently foretold: when, they were rescued from 
impending ruin by the appearance of one of those 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 185 

agents of mischief, whom the Evil one has always 
ready at hand, when their services are wanted. 

In Wolsey's establishment there was a man of 
the name of Crumwell, the son of a fuller in Put- 
ney, who had emerged from obs-^urity, and been 
employed by the cardinal in the dissolution of 
the smaller monasteries, granted him for the 
support of his colleges. In this trust he had not 
failed to enrich himself; but, what is worse, he had 
learned a pernicious lesson, which was, somewhat 
later, carried into effect upon a fearful scale. This 
man had for several years been a rover in Italy, and 
on one occasion, in a moment of communicativeness 
very unusual with him, had opened his mind to 
Cardinal Pole. He confessed himself to be a dis- 
ciple of the Machiavellian school, and had learned 
that vice and virtue were but names, fit indeed to 
amuse the leisure of collegians, but pernicious to 
the man who seeks to rise in the courts of princes. 
According to his views, the great art of the politi- 
cian, was to penetrate through the disguise which 
sovereigns are accustomed to throw over their real 
inclinations, and to devise the most specious expe- 
dients by which they may gratify their appetites, 
without appearing to outrage morality or religion. 

Crumwell had followed Wolsey to Esher, "but 
finding," says Mr. Tytler, that " the household of a 
fallen minister was no sphere for so restless a dis- 
position, and under a veil of what, without any 
breach of charity, we may pronounce religious hy- 
pocrisy, he concealed a determined purpose to re- 
trieve his fortunes and establish himself in favor 
with the king." It is at this moment that Caven- 
dish, the affectionate biographer of his master, 
Wolsey, gives us this graphic picture of the aspir- 
ing adventurer. " It chanced me upon All-hallow- 
een day, to come into the great chamber at Esher, 
in the morning, to give my attendance, when I 
found Master Crumwell leaning in the great win- 
dow, with a primer in his hand, saying Our Lady's 
Matins: which would have been since a very 
16* 



186 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

Strange sight. He prayed earnestly, and the tears 
trickled from his eyes. I bade him good morrow, 
saying; ' Why, Master Crumwell, what means all 
this your sorrow? Is my lord in any danger, for 
whom you lament thus? or is it any loss ye have 
sustained by any misadventure'?' — ' Nay, nay,' 
quoth he, ' it is my unhappy adventure, which is 
like to lose me all that I have travailed for all the 
days of my life, for doing of my master true and 
diligent service.' ' Why, Sir,' quoth I, ' I trust 
ye are too wise to commit any thing by my lord's 
commandment, otherwise than ye might do of 
right, whereby ye have any cause to doubt of loss 
of your goods.' ' Well, well,' quoth he, ' I can- 
not tell; but all that I see before mine eyes, is as it 
is taken; and this I understand right well, that I am 
in disdain with most men for my master's sake; and 
surely without just cause. Howbeit, an ill name 
once gotten, will not lightly be put away. I never 
had any promotion by my lord, to the increase of 
my living; and thus much will I say to you, that I 
intend, God willing, this afternoon, when my lord 
hath dined, to ride to London, and so to the court, 
where I will either make or mar, ere 1 come again." 
There is no doubt that Crumwell was in corres- 
pondence with the confidants of Anne, and knew 
the critical situation in which their affairs stood. 
The very day, therefore, after the king's intention 
had transpired, he repaired to the court at Greenwich, 
where all. had been arranged to gain him an audience 
with the king. Cardinal Pole, who had the account 
from Crumwell himself, and others who were pre- 
sent, relate that, upon this occasion, Crumwell sug- 
gested to the king a mode of overcoming the diffi- 
culty of the Pope's opposition to the divorce, by 
taking the authority into his own hands, and decla- 
ring himself head of the church within his own 
realm. These ideas were entirely new to the king. 
When Crumwell had concluded his discourse, and 
stood with his eyes timidly fixed on the floor, 
Henry regarded him for a moment in silence, and 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 187 

then asked liim if he could prove that these things 
were feasible. Crumwell raised his eyes modestly 
from the ground, and assured His Majesty that he 
could prove it all to his satisfaction. The king was 
satisfied, thanked the man whose logic was so con- 
vincing, and ordered him forthwith to be sworn of 
his privy-council. 

1531. On the 7th of February, a bill was brought 
into the lords, in which was the following clause: 
" Acknowledging the king to be the protector and 
only supreme head of the church and clergy of 
England." J.t was only after long struggles that the 
good Warham and others could obtain the modi- 
fication — " under God;" and finally that the clause 
should run as follows: " of which church and 
clergy, we acknowledge his majesty to be the chief 
protector, the only and supreme lord, and, as far 
as the law of Christ will allow^ the supreme head." 
Crumwell rose successively to the offices of Chan- 
cellor of the Exchequer, and of first secretary to 
the king. It only remained to crown his ambition 
by a title hitherto unheard of. He was appointed, 
according to the express terms of the patent, 
" royal vicegerent, vicar-general, and principal 
commissary, with all the spiritual authority be- 
longing to the king as head of the church, for the 
due administration of justice, in all cases touching 
the ecclesiastical jurisdiction, and the godly refor- 
mation and redress of all errors, heresies, and 
abuses in the said church." " Here, then," ex- 
claims the zealous Roper, " we have the king, and 
the man commissioned by him, made sole judges 
in matters of faith, and all ecclesiastical discipline 
put into their hands. The commission given by 
our Saviour to his apostles, and their successors, 
is set aside by human law, and the authority they 
received from heaven transferred upon the state. 
The care of souls is made to devolve upon the civil 
power, and the being of Christianity to depend upon 
the will of the magistrate!" He afterwards adds; 
" to show how much Henry triumphed in his new 



188 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

Style and title, a medal was struck, on one side ol' 
•which was his effigy, and on the reverse three in- 
scriptions, in Latin, Greek, and Hebrew, com- 
memorative of the event."* 

March 30. In order as far as possible, to prevent 
the impression on the public mind likely to be 
produced by Clement's inhibitory brief, More, in 
his official capacity as Chancellor, attended by 
twelve of the peers, went down to the lower house; 
the answers of the universities were read, and a 
formidable pile of papers, said to contain the opinions 
of theologians and canonists, was exhibited. After 
the prorogation on the following day, several lords 
were deputed to wait on the queen, and to request 
that, for the quiet of the king's conscience, she 
would refer the matter to the decision of four tem- 
poral and four spiritual peers. '• God grant him a 
quiet conscience," was the reply; "but this shall 
be your answer: I am his wife, lawfully married to 
him by order of the holy church; and so will I 
abide till the court of Rome, which was privy to 
the beginning, shall have made thereof an end." 
A second deputation was sent with an order for her 
to leave the palace at Windsor. " Go where I 
may," was her answer, " I shall still be his lawful 
wife." From that day Catharine and Henry never 
more saw each other. She repaired to the royal 
seat of the Moor, thence to East-Hampstead, and 
at last fixed her residence at Ampthill, in Bedford- 
shire. f 

It was about this period that More lost his father. 
After a long life of useful duties and unblemished 
integrity, Sir John More was gathered to his fathers 

* This gave occasion to a severe remark, which is embodied 
in the following epigram. 

A fearful sacrilege we see, 

Which fills good men with pain; 
For lo! beneath i ascriptions three, 
Christ, in his Church's person, he 
Has crucified again! 
t In days of old here Ampthill's towers were seen, 
The mournful refuge of an injured queen.---S'co«. 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 189 

at nearly the age of ninety. He had lived to see 
his son attain the highest honors in the kingdom 
to which a subject is eligible, and he was called 
away in time to be spared the pain of witnessing 
the cruelty and injustice by which he was to be 
pursued to the scaffold. Acquainted as the reader is 
with the heart of Sir Thomas, it is hardly necessary 
to tell him that, on this trying occasion, he gave 
the strongest proofs of filial affection; and that the 
old man breathed his last in his arms, cheered by 
his prayers and consoled by every tender office 
that love and religion can bestow. 

Little, if any, increase of fortune accrued to More 
by his father's death. Sir John's last wife was 
still living, and she enjoyed the benefit of the 
greater portion of her husband's property. More, 
in his "Apology," has the following observations 
on this subject: " As for all the lands and fees that 
I have in all England, beside such lands and fees 
as I have of the gift of the king's most noble grace, 
is not at this day, nor shall be while my mother- 
in-law lives (whose life and good health I pray 
God may keep and continue) worth yearly to my 
living, the sum of full fifty pounds." From such 
data as these we may estimate the value of More's 
charities, of his liberal spirit, and his contempt of 
wealth. 

In the meantime, the situation of Sir Thomas 
grew daily more embarrassing. The high offices 
to which he had been raised by the king, the 
marked degree of personal favor hitherto shown to 
hira, and the natural tendency of his gentle and 
amiable disposition, combined to disincline him 
to resist, as far as the utmost limits of his con- 
science would allow, the wishes of his friendly 
master. On the other hand, his deep sense of 
religion, and his reverence for the authority of the 
church, made him view with suspicion and alarm 
the conduct of Henry, and those designs which 
were visibly tending towards a rupture with the 
Roman See, the great centre of Catholic unity. 



190 >>IR THOMAS MURK, 

Together with these loftier principles, he was at 
the same time influenced by the humane feeling^s 
of his just and generous nature, which engaged his 
heart to espouse the cause of a blameless and 
wronged princess, driven from the throne and from 
the bed of a tyrannical husband. Nor can it be 
forgotten that More had been admitted to the family 
privacy, the fire-side intimacies of the king and 
queen, and consequently had every opportunity of 
seeing and appreciating the many virtues and esti- 
mable qualities of this best of women.* 

" In steering his course through the intrigues 
and passions of the court," we quote Sir J. 
Mackintosh, " it is very observable that More 
most warily retired from every opposition but 
that which conscience absolutely required: he 
shunned unnecessary disobedience as much as un- 
conscientious compliance. If he had been influ- 
enced solely by prudential considerations, he could 
not have more cautiously shunned every needless 
opposition; but in that case he would not have gone 
so far. He displajred, at the time of which we now 
speak, that very peculiar excellence of his charac- 
ter, which, as it showed his submission to be the 
fruit of sense of duty, gave dignity to that which 
in others is apt to seem and to be slavish." 

The anxieties of More increased with the ap- 
proach towards the execution of the king's projects 
of divorce and second marriage. Some anecdotes 
of this period are preserved by the affectionate and 
descriptive pen of Margaret Roper's husband, 
which, as he evidently reports in the chancellor's 
language, it would be unpardonable to relate in any 
other words than those of the venerable man 
himself. 

* Of her 

That, like a jewel, has hang twenty years 
Ahout his Jieck, yet never lost her lustre; 
Of her that loves him vi'ith that excellence 
Which angels love good men with; e'en of her 
That, when the greatest stroke of fortune falls. 
Will bless the king.— 

Shakrpf.are, Henry VIII. 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 191 

We have already seen that the banks of the 
Thames, in front of Sir Thomas's residence, was 
his favorite promenade after the business of the day. 
His son-in-law Roper was frequently the compan- 
ion of his walk. On one of these occasions, after 
his return from his duties at court, he thus ad- 
dressed his son-in-law, in a tone of more than usual 
earnestness: " Now, would to our Lord, son Roper, 
upon condition that three things were well estab- 
lished in Christendom, I were put into a sack, and 
v;ere presently cast into the Thames." — •*' What 
great things be those, sir," quoth I, " that should 
move you so to wish?" — " In faith, son, they be 
these," said he. ^''The first is, that, whereas the 
most part of Christian princes be at mortal war, 
they were all at universal peace. The second, that, 
whereas the church of Christ is at present sore afflict- 
ed with many errors and heresies, it were well set- 
tled in perfect uniformity of religion. The third, 
that, as the matter of the king's marriage is now 
come m question, it were, to the glory of God and 
quietness of all parties, brought to a good conclu- 
sion.' " 

On another occasion, as he was proceeding in his 
barge to Westminster, to attend to his official du- 
ties, the following scene took place between him, 
and his faithful servant, John Harris. When the 
weather was fair. Sir Thomas used to read the 
whole way, for when against the tide, it was a 
good hour's row; and in the economy of his duties 
this hour was important. On the morning in ques- 
tion, he had taken with him a volume of St. Tho- 
mas Acquinas, being no doubt at this time engaged 
on some of his controversial pieces. On a sudden 
turning to Harris, and pointing with his finger to 
the volume, he exclaimed: " Look here, Harris; 
only see how that fellow Luther has been picking 
his arguments out of St. Thomas's objections; but 
then the knave has not had the common honesty to 
say a word of the solutions, which follow close by."* 

* How much truth is there in this remark of Sir Thomas; nor 



192 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

It is said of Moliere, that, previous to the pro- 
duction of any of his pieces, he used to read them 
over to a good old housekeeper of his, in order to 
remark the effect produced upon her plain unsophis- 
ticated judgment; in the same manner would More 
avail himself of the good strong common sense of 
Harris. "Yea," says Roper, "though Sir Tho- 
mas was most wise and dexterous in discovering, 
truth from falsehood, and virtue from cloaked-up 
vice, yet would he frequently, in his greatest affairs 
and studies, ask his man Harris his advice and 
counsel; and, if he thought his judgment better, 
would willingly submit to his opinion; choosing ra- 
ther to be in ail things at the discretion of other 
men, than at his own guiding, desirous in all his 
actions to exercise the chief of all Christian vir- 
tues, obedience and humility." We learn from 
Cresacre, that More afterwards raised this honest 
man to the place of his private secretary; for, he 
adds, Harris was a person of sound judgment and 
great piety.* 

was it in his time alone that such unworthy arts were resorted 
to; the knaves of wliorn he speaks are to be found in all volu- 
minous manufacturers of abuse against the Catholic Church, 
from Tindall to Southey, whose whole ground of argument is 
picked from the objections of St. Thomas, and based solely on 
abuses, which every l)onest Catholic laments as sincerely as 
his adversary. It has been the trick of the scribes in question 
to underrate and abuse i^l. Thomas, in order to throwthe hunt- 
ers of knowledge off the scent, lest their petty larcenies should 
he detected. Thus " the solemn and neglected riddles of Tho- 
mas Acquina?," is the expression of a fashionable writer of 
this tribe: those things are riddles to us which we cannot com- 
prehend, and precisely in this predicamint is the scribbler of 
the above. Men capable of appreciating the merits of this 
wonderful man, have done justice to his immense learning, and 
his commanding intellect. We cite with pleasure the historian 
ot The iVliddle Ages. 

« Harris is immortalised in the celebrated picture of the 
More family by Holbein, of which we have already spoken. 
lie is represented in the same group with More's son, with 
this inscription over his head "Johannes Harresius Thomae 
Mori famulus." 

" If you find a good servant, look upon him under no severer 
aspect than that of a humble friend; the difference between 
such a one and his master, residing rather in fortune than in 
nature."— Sir Francis Osborne's Advice to His Son. 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 193 

On another occasion, Sir Thomas was returning in 
his barge, after having dined at the house of a mer- 
chant in the city. His water-bailiff, a trusty ser- 
vant, having- heard certain persons, who were tinc- 
tured with the new opinions, rail severely against 
Sir Thomas, because he was a determined opponent 
of the Lutheran doctrines, "waxed sore discontent- 
ed therewith, knowing well that his good master 
little deserved any evil report." He therefore took 
an opportunity, when they were seated in the barge, 
to report to his master the disagreeable things he 
had heard; and he added, with a significant motion 
of the head; " And were I, Sir, in such high favor 
and authority with my prince as you are, such men 
should not so villanously and falsely misrepresent 
and slander me. Therefore, will you not do well, 
Sir, to call them before you, and punish them to 
their shame for their undeserved malicel" 

Sir Thomas, smiling at his honest warmth, re- 
plied: " Why, Mr. Water-bailiff, and would you 
have me punish those by M^hom I reap more benefit 
than by all you that are my friends'? Let them, in 
God's name, speak as loudly of me as they list, and 
shoot never so msny bolts at me; so long as they 
hit me not, what am I the worse] True it is, that, 
should they once hit me, then would it not a little 
grieve me; howbeit, I trust by God's grace and 
help, there shall none of them all be able to touch 
me. And this believe, that I have more cause to 
pity than to be angry with them." 

The following is an instance of the happy way 
in which More could parry an adversary's blow. A 
member of the house of Manners had ingratiated 
himself into the king's favor, and been raised to a 
post of honor. He had formerly been one of Sir 
Thomas's friends, but " perceiving that the world 
began somewhat to frown upon him, because he 
was not so forward as other men to egg on the di- 
vorce," and hinting that More M^as ungrateful for 
the king's favors, said to him in a sarcastic tone; 
" Even so as the old proverb is, Honores mutant 
17 



194 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

moresJ''' — " Yes," replied More, with that sparkle 
of the eye that announced a good thing, " the pro- 
verb is most apt, but only translate it rightly, for 
mores is manners^ Sir Thomas was not attacked 
in that quarter again. 

The recent task which we have seen More per- 
form, and to which he was compelled by his official 
situation, must have done violence to his nature. In 
laying before the Commons the opinions of the uni- 
versities, which were, in fact, so many outrages 
upon the feelings of the Queen, whom he so much 
loved and respected, he was compelled to recite a 
tale, which could have afforded him but little satis- 
faction in the telling. His contempt of worldly 
greatness was too strong to allow him to hold even 
the highest station, subject to the violation of his 
conscience; and it requires but little knowledge of 
More's character, not to see that he would take 
measures to prevent his being exposed to the re- 
petition of an act that had conflicted with his prin- 
ciples. Accordingly, we find him shortly after 
applying to his particular friend, the Duke of Nor- 
folk, to intercede with his royal master, that he 
might be permitted to resign the seal. A complaint 
in his breast, arising from too assiduous an applica- 
tion to business, was the reason assigned by him, 
for his resignation, as well to the duke, as to the 
friends with whom he corresponded. But Norfolk 
knew too well the value of More's services to the 
king in the situation which he filled, to make such 
a proposal, till after much importunity on the part 
of the knight ; and Henry, anxious as he might 
feel to exchange the rigid honesty of More for 
something more pliant and yielding to his pur- 
poses, had the decency not to accept the resigna- 
tion tendered, till after repeated solicitation. At 
length, however, the king's consent was obtained, 
and More waited upon His Majesty by appoint- 
ment, to deliver up the seal, having held it just two 
years and seven months. Hall, the court chronicler, 
thus records the circumstance: " Sir Thomas More, 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 195 

Chancellor of England, after long suits made to the 
king-, to be discharged of that office, on the 15th 
day of May, delivered to the king, at Westminster, 
the great seal of England, and was with the King's 
favor discharged; which seal the king kept till 
Whitsunday following, and on the Monday in 
Whitsun week, he dubbed Thomas Audley, Speak- 
er of the Parliament, Knight, and made him lord 
keeper of the great seal." 

As the successor of More will, in the sequel, be 
seen to take an active part against him, we may be 
allowed to say a few words, in passing, on his con- 
duct and character. Some estimate of the latter 
may be formed from documents that have come to 
light in "The State Papers," and which do not 
place him in a point of view favorable to a compari- 
son with his predecessor in office. The follow- 
ing passages will exhibit his conduci in strong 
contrast with the severe integrity and manly inde- 
pendence of Sir Thomas. There is a letter of his to 
Secretary Crumwell, in which, after stating "that 
his debts troubled him sore," he adds; "1 am alraid 
to require any thing of the king's grace, he hath 
been so good lord to me; but. Sir, if by your means, 
it might please the king's grace to give me that 
poor house, I once told you of, that late belonged 
to Christ's church, a little from London, with the 
lands and pastures thereunto belonging, which ex- 
ceed not 20 mark a year; and also that his grace 
would, of his goodness, pay me that £100 due 
to me, and lend me £600, upon good sureties. I 
pray you burn this letter, or keep it secret, for 
therein my necessity appeareth, which I would that 
all should not know." 

In another letter dated the same year (1533) is the 
following: " Bruits [reports] have run concerning 
the dissolution of the Abbey of St. John, Colches- 
ter, and of St. Oswyth,and 1 am bold to write to your 
lordship after my old suit. I beseech you, my lord, 
if your lordship should think this suit honorable and 
reasonable, to move this matter to the king's majes- 



196 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

ty, and to set it earnestly forward. I trouble you 
with my suits often, and cannot recompense you for 
the gentleness and pains taken for me; but if you 
can or may obtain this suit, your lordship shall have 
for your favor therein £200." 

This bribe is offered in so cool and business-like a 
tone, that it is not difficult to conjecture that there 
was nothing- novel to Crumwell in transactions of 
this kind. The editor of the State Papers, from 
which this is taken, drily remarks: " Crumwell was 
not tempted by this bribe: he obtained the Abbey 
for himself." 

Marillac, the French ambassador, terms Audley 
un grand vendeur de justice— 3, great barterer of 
Justice. {Le Grund, I, 22i.) 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 1 97 



CHAPTER VII. 
1532—1534. iETAT. 54. 

MORE IN HIS RETIREMENT — NEW DOMESTIC ARRANGE- 
MENTS — HIS POVERTY — OFFERING OF THE BISHOPS 
■ — ACCUSATION AND APOLOGY — CRANMER — MAR- 
RIAGE OF HENRY AND ANNE BOLEYN — THE NUN OF 
KENT — BISHOP FISHER— MORE ACCUSED OF MIS- 
PRISON OF TREASON— STATUTES OF SUCCESSION AND 
ALLEGIANCE— MORE REFUSES THE OATH — COMMIT- 
TED TO THE TOWER. 

TJae spirit in which More resigns his honors, and retires to 
Chelsea — Anecdote— More describes his feelings to Erasmus 
— Composes a monumental Inscription for himself— Aew do- 
mestic arrangements — His ])oveny— Oftering made him by 
the Bishops — He is accused ot bribery — Devotes his leisure 
to study, and composes his Apology and other works— Rise 
of Craiimer— He is made Archbishop of i anterburj- — Fro- 
nounces the divorce — Marriage of Henry with Anne Boleyn 
— Coronation of Anne— More declines an invitation to the 
ceremony — Firmness of dueen Catharine to the last— Final 
separation of England from the communion of the Catholic 
Church— Elizabefh Barton, the nun of Kent — Her execution 
— Irosecution of Bishop Fisher — His letter to Crumvvell on 
his inhuman treatment in the Tower— More is implicated 
together with Fisher— His letters to Secretary Crumwell — 
To the King — He is accused ol misprision of treason — Is ex- 
amined before the Commission — His firmness— Henry is made 
Head of the Chiirch— Isal the zenith of power, civil and ec- 
clesiastical— Its effect upon his character and conduct— Sta- 
tutes of succession and allegiance — More refuses to take the 
oath— He is cited to appear before the commission at Lam- 
beth—His account of his examination, in a letter to his 
daughter Margaret — Is placed in the custody of the Abbot of 
Westminster—* ranmer's argument and letter on qualifying 
the oath— The King disposed to adopt Craniner's sugge tion, 
but prevented by the influenee of the Boleyn party — The 
oath tendered to More unqualified, and refused by him — His 
committal to the Tower— Anecdotes. 

More descended from his high station with more 
joy and alacrity than others feel ia entering- upon 
17* 



198 



SiR THOMAS MORE. 



the envied honors of office. The possession of 
these honors instead of corrupting, had but disci- 
plined his heart;* by their removal, he felt his mind 
relieved from a weight that had oppressed it, and 
rejoiced at being able to breathe again in free- 
dom. When his friends manifested their sorrow- 
on his descent from grandeur, he smiled at their 
unnecessary solicitude, and made them ashamed of 
sacrificing a moment's cheerfulness at the view of 
an occurrence, which those acquainted with the 
uncertain tenure of worldly honors, should ever be 
prepared to encounter. 

He gave a proof of this temper of mind in the 
characteristic manner in which he announced his 
resignation to his lady. He had given up the seals 
on the preceding day which was Saturday, and on the 
Sunday morning he accompanied his family to Chel- 
sea church. During his chancellorship, one of 
More's attendants had been in the habit, after the 
church-service was over, of going to his lady's pew 
to inform her that my Lord had gone on before. 
On this occasion, Sir Thomas came to the pew 
himself, cap in hand, and making a low bow, said 
to her with perfect gravity; — " Madame, my Lord 
is gone!'''' Accustomed to his playful manner, " for 
he used many jests unto her upon all occasions," 
his lady imagined this to be one of his wonted 
jokes, and took little or no notice of it at the time. 
But when, on reaching home, he informed her seri- 
ously that he had resigned the seal, she flew into a 
passion outright. That she was worldly-minded, 
we have already had occasion to see, and the pre- 
sent moment would naturally call that feeling into 
action. " Tilly vallylf what will you do," quoth 

* There is no surer sign of a worthy and genuine spirit, than 
when honors amend a man: for their natural tendency is to 
corrupt. — Lord Bacon. 

I'll find my conquest in a safe retreat; 
While others rise, I'll sink to be as great.— 

Sir Rob. Howard. 
t Sir J. Mackintosh seems puzzled about this word. It was 
a common exclamation of this and Shakspeare'sday, in whose 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 199 

she, her temper rising, " what will you do, that 
you list not to put yourself forward, like other 
folks'? Will you sit still by the fire, and as children 
do, make goslings in the ashes with a stick"? "Would 
to God, that I were a man, and look ye then what 
1 would do!" " Why, Alice," quoth Sir Thomas, 
*' and what wouldst thou do]" — " What!" quoth 
she, " why^ marry! go forward with the best of 
them all. JPor, as my mother was wont, to say — 
God rest her soul!— it is ever better to rule than to 
be ruled. Therefore, by heavens, I warrant that 1 
would not be so foolish as to be ruled, where I 
might rule." — " By my troth, wife," said Sir Tho- 
mas, " I know that to be a rule thou wert always fain 
to abide by." — "And so would any one," rejoined 
Alice, " who has a particle of spirit." 

Finding that his lady was determined- to have 
the last word, the facetious knight called his daugh- 
ters, and asked them if they could espy any thing 
strange in their mother's appearance. Alice, ima- 
gining it was something wrong in the adjustment 
of her dress, turned herself about for the daughters 
to examine. " Oh, it is not that," said Sir Thomas, 
laughing; " don't you perceive that your mother's 
nose standeth somewhat awryl" This was too bad, 
and the offended dame shut herself up in her own 
room — the very thing that Sir Thomas wanted. 

It will, perhaps, be said, that trifles like these are 
scarcely worth recording in the life of so great a 
man. But it may be observed, that the characters 
of men are frequently best learnt from circumstan- 
ces apparently trifling. Anecdotes like these are 
better calculated to show us More as he was, than 



plays it occurs more than once. From a collection of ancient 
poems, published with a translation, in 1600, it would appear 
to be of Cornish origin. One of the poems is a dialogue on 
the subject of Cain and Abel. In reply to a question, whe- 
ther he was not sorry for having killed his brother, Cain 
replies: 

Tily yaly! nynges yadrage thymo whath. 
Which is translated: 

Tittle tattle! nothing am I sorry for that. 



200 SIR THOMAS MORE. 

the most elaborate descriptions. They also prove 
that his humor was natural to him, and wholly un- 
tinctured by singularity or affectation; and at the 
same time convince us, that riches, honors, and 
power had no charms for him, and that he could 
disencumber himself of them with a jest upon his 
lips. 

In More's Latin works are two letters which he 
wrote to Erasmus, at this period. They contain 
some interesting passages respecting Sir Thomas, 
which are here translated. 

" The thing, my dear Desiderius, which I have 
most wished for from my very boyhood, and which 
I rejoice in your having always enjoyed, and my- 
self occasionally — namely, that being free from 
public business, I might have some time to devote 
to God and myself; and this by the goodness of 
heaven and the favor of an indulgent prince, I have 
at last obtained. I have not, however, obtained it 
as I could have wished. For my desire was to have 
reached the last stage of existence in a state, which, 
though suitable to my years, might yet have ena- 
bled me to enjoy the remainder of my days strong 
in health and unbroken by age, free from disease 
and with a mind undistracted by pain. It remain- 
eth in the hand of God whether this wish of mine, 
unreasonable as perhaps it is, shall be accom- 
plished. Meantime, a disorder of 1 know not what 
nature has attacked my breast, by which I suffer 
less in present pain, than in fear of the consequen- 
ces. For when it had annoyed me for some months 
without abatement, the physicians whom I con- 
sulted, gave their opinion that its continuance was 
dangerous, and rendered the prospect of cure less 
probable : the only remedy must be the gradual 
effects of time, proper diet, and medicine. Finding 
that they were unable to fix a period for my recov- 
ery, or, indeed, to ensure me a perfect cure at all, 
I saw that I must either lay down my office, or dis- 
charge my duty in it little to my satisfaction. And 
since I could not discharge that duty without some 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 201 

hazard of my life, and by so doing should lose both 
life and office, I determined to lose one of them 
rather than both. Wherefore, that I might consult 
the public good, as well as my own welfare, I 
entreated His Highness, the Prince, that he would 
release me from the high office with which his great 
favor had honored me, far above my hopes, my 
wishes, and my pretensions, sinking as I was 
under the weight of the same. I pray heaven to 
reward His Majesty for those favors towards me; 
that the remainder of life allotted me, may not be 
spent in inglorious and slothful repose, but that, 
together with the disposition, strength of body may 
be given me, to employ it profitably. For, under 
bad health, I am not equal to any thing. It is not 
all the world that are like Erasmus, to whom 
heaven would seem to have granted an exclusive 
privilege. For who but yourself could dare to pro- 
mise what you accomplish] — you, who are not hin- 
dered by the inconveniences of growing age, and 
though, afflicted by such maladies as youth and 
strength ordinarily sink before, yet do you not cease 
from year to year to instruct mankind by your ex- 
cellent writings, as if age and ill-health could rob 
nothing from you." 

It was during this interval that, with an eye 
calmly and steadily fixed on the prospect before 
him, he erected a monument for himself in the 
church of Chelsea, with an inscription recounting 
the most prominent incidents of his life.* He thus 
speaks of it in one of his letters to Erasmus: " Cer- 
tain praters had begun to give it out here, that 
though I dissembled my sentiments, 1 in reality 
gave up my office unwillingly. I am determined to 
represent the matter as it really was, and, for that 
purpose, I have set about my monument, for which 
I have been composing an epitaph, in which I will 



* This monument, which still remains entire and undefaoed, 
is situated on the south side of the chancel. For the Inscrip- 
tion see Jifpevdix No. 1 to the present volume. 



202 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

confute these insinuations— for, if gny one can do 
so, it is surely myself. In pronouncing upon my 
late conduct, though they could not tax me with 
falsehood, ihey did not acquit me of a certain de- 
gree of arrogance. 1 choose this method, to prevent 
these misrepresentations from gaining credit; assur- 
edly, not on my own account, for I little heed what 
men say, so God but approve. But since 1 had 
written some books, in our mother tongue, in favor 
of certain disputed tenets of ours, I conceived that 
it behooved me to defend the integrity of my cha- 
racter. And that you may know how arrogantly I 
have written, I enclose you the said epitaph, in 
which you will see how little disposed 1 am to 
compliment these men. I have now waited a due 
time for suffrages on my official conduct, but, as 
yet, no one has stepped forward to challenge my 
integrity. I must have been very innocent, or very 
much upon my guard; and if my adversaries will 
not give me credit for the one, they must for the 
other.* The King himself has declared his senti- 
ments on the subject oftentimes in private, and twice 
in public. For when my successor took his seat, 
His Majesty commanded the Duke of Norfolk, 
High-Treasurer of England, to bear honorable tes- 
timony of me, even more than my modesty will 
allow me to repeat, and to say that he most unwil- 
lingly accepted the resignation that I tendered him, 
and only after repeated entreaties. And not con- 
tent wiih this, he caused the same thing to be re- 
peated in his presence, a considerable time after- 
wards in the speech made by my successor in the 
Comnnons." 

Settled quietly down in the retreat of his beloved 
Chelsea, he seems to have breathed once again. 
Hear him pour out his heart to a friend: "These 
great fortunes lift a man up high, and set him above 



* To an Athenian, who, in praising a public functionary, 
had said, that every one either applauded him, or left him with- 
oat censure, a philosopher replied—" How seldom, then, must he 
have done his duty!" 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 203 

the show; but oftentimes like a fierce and skittish 
horse, they will cast their master. The g-olden me- 
diocrity, the mean estate, is the thing- to be desired 
which shall bear us up, as it were, in hands more 
easily; which shall obey us, and not we it. I, 
therefore, abiding firmly in this opinion, set greater 
store by my little house, my study, the pleasure of 
my books, my family, and the rest and the peace 
of my mind, than by all your king's palaces, all 
your common business, all your glory, all the ad- 
vantages that we hawk after, all the favor of the 
court. I look for other fruit of my study: that I 
may bring forth the children that I travail on, that 
I may give out some books of mine own, to the 
common profit, which may somewhat favor, if not 
of cunning [knowledge], at the leastwise of wit 
and diligence!" It is painful to reflect, that More's 
dream of happiness was to be of short duration, and 
these literary projects of his a mere Utopian vision. 

It cannot but seem strange, that the king should 
permit a favorite minister of his to retire with no- 
thing but barren expressions of esteem, and not 
have the generosity to make some provision for the 
supply of his wants. And yet that such was the 
fact, we learn from Sir Thomas's son-in-law, as well 
as from circumstances which we shall have to de- 
tail. 

" As his grace," says Roper, " courteously receiv- 
ed the seal from his hands, with thanks and praise 
for his worthy service in that office, so it pleased 
his highness further to say to him, that, for the 
service he had before done him, he should, in any 
suit he might hereafter have unto him, which should 
either concern his honor^ — for that word it pleased 
his highness to use unto him, or which should 
regard his interests, find his highness a good 
and gracious lord unto him." Roper adds, and 
he speaks as one interested in the result, " how true 
the words proved, let others be judges, when the 
king not only did not bestow^ upon him the value of 
one penny, but afterwards took from him and his 



204 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

posterity all that ever had been either g-iven by him, 
left him by his father, or purchased by himself." 

More would appear to have been born in the same 
ag-e with Wolsey, in order to exliibita striking con- 
trast to his conduct on almost all occasions. When 
we read of the cardinal's immense wealth on his 
retiring from the chancellorship and the splendid 
establishment which he kept up, and then look at 
More in his honorable poverty, he rises proportion- 
ably in our estimation. We quote the words of his 
son-in-law: " 1 am well assured that all the land he 
ever purchased before he was lord chancellor, was 
not above the value of twenty marks* -by the year, 
and, after his debts were paid, he had not, to my 
knowledge, (his chain of office excepted), left him 
in gold and silver the worth of one hundred pounds." 
Surely, observes Cresacre, it is a rare thing to be 
said, that one of the king's council, who had gone 
through many offices for nearly twenty years, should 
not be able to purchase one hundred pounds in land, 
when now-^-days, a private attorney, by his own 
practice, will leave his children five hundred pounds, 
or more of land in inheritance. He attributes the 
fact of Sir Thomas's admirable contempt of worldly 
interests, to the bounteous hand which was ever 
open so liberally to the poor, to his own kinsfolk, 
his family, and his friends, as well as to that 
spirit of the old hospitality which Sir Thomas loved 
to cherish, and also to his liberality to the church. 

The bishops were not ignorant of the fact, that, 
notwithstanding the favor of the king, More was a 
poor man, and they came to a determination which 
it is delightful to record. They, together with the 
leading men of the clergy, agreed in one of their 
convocations, to recompense him v/ith a sum of 
money raised among them, supposed to have been 
to the amount of about five thousand pounds, a 
splendid offering in those days. The bishops of 
Bath, Durham, and Exeter, (Drs. Clarke, Tunstall, 

* The mark was a silver coin of the value of 13s. 4d. 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 205 

and Hussay), waited upon him in consequence, and 
tendered him the sum in question in the name of the 
convocation; they said that " they had weighed 
with themselves what pains and travail he had 
taken in writing many learned books in defence of the 
Catholic faith, against the errors secretly dissemi- 
nated abroad in the realm; that it was to their pas- 
toral charge the care of these interests principally 
appertained, and yet that there had not been a single 
clergyman who had matched his writings either in 
the extent of the volumes, the soundness of the 
argument, or in the happy result produced. That, 
therefore, they held themselves bound to consider 
him for the pains he had taken, and the zeal he 
had shown to discharge them in God's quarrel; 
that they were v/ell aware they could not requite 
him according to his merits — that must be left to 
the goodness of God: and yet taking into conside- 
ration that his estate was not equal to his worth, 
they had been deputed by the whole convocation, 
to beg his acceptance of this sum, as a small testi- 
mony of their sense of the obligations they owed him, 
and which they hoped he would accept according to 
the spirit in which it was presented." This, says 
More's grandson, was a beautiful deed in respect to 
the Prelates who made the offering, but little knew 
they Sir Thomas's magnificent disposition. He of- 
fered them his grateful acknowledgments, but refused 
the present. "It is no small comfort to me (said 
he) that men so wise and learned accepts so well of 
my simple doings. But I never purposed to receive 
any reward, save from the hands of God alone: 
from Him, the giver of all good gifts, came the 
means that I have used to defend his cause, and to 
Him alone are the thanks to be ascribed. I give my 
most humble and hearty thanks to your lordships, 
for your so bountiful and so friendly consideration; 
but I must beg you to hold me excused from receiv- 
ing anything at your hands." And when, continues 
his grandson, " they still pressed it upon him with 
so great importunity, that few could have supposed 
18 



206 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

he would have had the resolution to persist in the 
refusal, they could not, for all that, prevail any 
whit upon him. They then varied their mode of as- 
sault, and besought him that, at least, he would not 
deny their bestowingcit upon his wife and children." 
" Not so, my lords," said the knight, " not so; ye 
shall not steal a march upon me thus. I had rather 
see it cast into the Thames, than that either I or any 
of mine should have thereof the worth of a single 
penny. For although your offer, my lords, be indeed 
very friendly and honorable, yet set 1 so much by 
my pleasure and so little by my profit, that I would 
not, in good faith, for a much greater sum than yours, 
have lost the value of so many nights' sleep as was 
spent upon the same. And yet, for all that, I could 
well wish, that, upon condition all heresies were 
suppressed, all my works were burned, and my labor 
utterly lost." 

Sir J. Mackintosh observes, that he spoke this 
not from any boastful pride, which was most foreign 
to his nature, but as shrinking with a sort of instinc- 
tive delicacy from the touch of money, even before 
he considered how much the acceptance of the gift 
might impair his usefulness." And thus, continues 
Cresacre, the bishops were fain to depart, and return 
to every one his own again. And by this his virtuous 
answer, and the firmness of his conduct, every one 
may see, that all his solicitude was for God's greater 
honor, and not for any vain glory, or mere earthly 
interests. 

The reformers, upon the watch to find something 
that would tell against their untiring opponent, cir- 
culated a report from the above circumstance, that 
More had been bribed by the clergy to write against 
them; "measuring," says Cresacre, "other men 
by the standard of their own covetous humors." 
In his " Apology," which More published shortly 
after, he has the following passage on this subject. 
" I will not say nay, but that some good and honor- 
able men among them [the clergy] would, in re- 
ward of my good will and my labor against these 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 207 

heretics, have given me much more than ever I 
did, or could, deserve. But I dare take God and 
them also to record, that all of them could never fee 
me one penny thereof; but, as I plainly told them, 
that I would rather have cast their money into the 
Thames than take it. For albeit there were among 
them, as indeed there were, both good men and 
honorable, yet look I for my thanks from God, 
who is their better, and for whose sake 1 take the 
labor, and not for theirs. I am not yet altogether 
so virtueless, but that of my own natural disposi- 
tion, without any special or peculiar help of grace 
thereto, I am both over-proud, and over-slothful too, 
to be hired for money to take half the labor and 
business in writing, that I have taken in this ^ear 
[matter] since I began.'* {Works p. 867.) 

Surely, if the king had been possessed of any 
sensibility, he must have felt the conduct of the 
bishops as the severest of all libels upon his con- 
duct. But Henry's growing selfishness had shut 
his heart against feelings of this kind. When his 
impure passion was to be catered for, we have seen 
him profuse enough of the royal purse; but there 
was nothing in the purity and integrity of More to 
interest his feelings as a man, or awaken his sym- 
pathy to his former friend. 

More's resources were of a nobler nature. The 
simplicity of his tastes and the moderation of 
his indulgences rendered retrenchment a task so 
easy to himself, as to be scarcely perceptible in 
his personal habits. His fool or jester, then a ne- 
cessary part of a great man's establishment, he gave 
to the lord mayor for the time being.* His first 
care was to provide for his attendants, by placing 
his gentlemen and yeomen with peers and prelates, 
and his eight watermen in the service of his suc- 
cessor Sir T. Audley, to whom he gave his great 
barge, one of the most indispensable appendages 

* Rastell informs us that Pattison was sent home to his 
father; this doubtless was the fact, as being more in accordance 
with the known humanity of Sir Thomas's character. 



208 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

of his office in an age when carriages were un- 
known. His sorrows were for separation from 
those whom he loved. He called together his 
children and grandchildren, who had hitherto lived 
in peace and love under his patriarchal roof, and, 
lamenting that he could not as he was used, and 
as he gladly would, bear out the whole charges of 
them all himself, and continue living together as they 
were wont, he prayed them to give him their coun- 
sel on this trying occasion. When he saw them 
silent, and unwilling to risk an opinion, he gave 
them his, seasoned with his natural gaiety, and 
containing some strokes illustrative of the state 
of society at that time. — " I have been brought 
up," quoth he, "at Oxford, at an inn of Chan- 
cery, at Lincoln's Inn, and also in the king's 
court: from the lowest degree to the highest, and 
yet I have at present left me little above 100/. a 
year" (including the king's grants); " so that now, 
if we like to live together, we must be content to 
be contributaries together; but we must not fall to 
the lowest fare first. We will begin with Lincoln's 
Inn diet, where many right worshipful and of good 
years do live fall well; which, if we find not our- 
selves the first year able to maintain, then will we 
the next year go one step to New Inn fare; if that 
year exceed our ability, we will the next year descend 
to Oxford fare,* wherewith many grave, learned, 

* If the following description ^eiven by Tlinmas Lever (1550), 
in a discourse at St. Paul's Cross, be correct, the fare was hard 
enougli in all conscience. "There be diverse there that rise 
between four and five in the morning, and remain until six in 
prayer in the common chapel- At ten o'clock tliey go to dinner, 
at which tliey are content with a penny piece of beef amongfour, 
having a pntage made of the broth of the same beef, with salt 
and oatmeai, and nothing else. After this slender dinner, they 
are teaching or learning till five in the evening, when they 
have a supper not better than their dinner. Immediately after 
which they go to reasoning in problems, or to some other study 
till nine or ten; and then, being without fire, are fain to walk 
or run up and down for half an hour, to beget a heat in the 
feet, when they go to bed. Yet these be men not weary of 
their pains, but very sorry to leave their studies." 

"The college beer," says old Fuller, "is raw, small, and 
windy." 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 209 

and ancient fathers are continually conversant. If 
our ability stretch not to maintain either, then may 
we with bags and wallets go a begging together, 
and, hoping for charity, to sing a Salve, regina at 
every man's door, and so still keep company and 
be merry together."* 

It was a thing for men to wonder at, says Cres- 
acre, that whereas More was taken by the king into 
his service from a very worshipful living of four 
hundred pounds by the year, to deal in the greatest 
and weightiest causes that concerned his highness 
and the realm; and though Sir Thomas had spent 
with painful cares, travels and troubles, as well 
beyond the seas, as within the kingdom, in effect 
the whole substance of his life; yet with all the 
gain he got thereby — being never himself a waste- 
ful spender — he was unable, after the resignation 
of his office, to find for himself and those that be- 
longed to him, sufficient meat, drink, fuel, apparel, 
and such needful charges. As such was the case, 
his children went to their own livings, all but my 
uncle Roper and my aunt, who lived in the house 
next unto him. 

The following is added in a second manuscript 
Life of More, in the Lambeth collection. " After the 
resignation of his office of Chancellor, he was not 
able for the maintenance of himself and such as 
belonged to him, sufficiently to find meat, drink, 
fuel, apparel, and such other necessaries: but was 
compelled for lack of other fuel, in the winter time 
before he went to bed, to cause a great bundle 
of fern to be brought into his own chamber, and 
with the blaze thereof to warm himself, his wife, 
and children, and so without any other fire to go 
to their beds." 

More, in one of his letters to Erasmus, had con- 
gratulated himself, that no one had stepped forward 
to challenge his integrity. It was not long before 



Roper, pp. 51, 52. 

18* 



210 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

there were found beings hardy enough for the task.** 
The most officious and malignant scrutiny was 
exercised, with a view to discover some ground of 
accusation against him; and now it was that he 
found the true value of his innocence and integrity. 
Had he not acted with the utmost probity in the 
high office he filled, and kept his hands pure from 
corruption, the slightest matter would have been 
gladly laid hold of to crush him. This was suffi- 
ciently evident in the instance of a man of the name 
of Parnell, who was induced to come forward with 
a complaint that Sir Thomas had pronounced a de- 
cree against him in the Court of Chancery, at the 
suit of one Vaughan, and that he had been biassed 
in pronouncing judgment by the bribe of a large 
silver gilt cup, presented to liim by the wife of the 
said Vaughan. Upon this accusation he was sum- 
moned to appear before the council at which Lord 
Wiltshire, father to Anne Boleyn, presided. When 
charged by the witness with the fact in question, 
he readily acknowledged that as such a cup had 
been brought him as a New Year's gift, long after 
the decree was made, he had not refused to take it. 
On hearing this, the eyes of the president of the 
council glistened with delight; he could not restrain 
his emotions, but exclaimed: " There, my lords, 
did I not tell you that you would find this matter 
true!" Sir Thomas quietly observed, that, as they 
had been pleased courteously to hear one part of the 
story, they would impartially listen to the other. 
This being granted, he declared, that, " Though, 
after much solicitation, he did indeed receive the 

* " The world," More used to say, " is ungrateful: not only 
does it rarely recompense the good turns that we do it, but mis- 
represents our plainest actions. But, indeed, were the world 
as grateful as it might, it could never recompense a good action: 
that awaits a higher reward." Of the ungrateful he says in 
another place; "That they wrote the best deeds done them in 
dust, but the smallest injuries in marble. 

Shakspearehas taken this image. In reply to dueen Catha- 
rine's reproaches on Cardinal Wolsey, Griffith says: 
Noble madam. 
Men's evil manners live in brass: their virtues 
We write in water. 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 211 

cup, yet immediately sending- for his butler, he 
ordered him to fill it with wine, of which when 
Mrs. Vaug-han had drank, he pledged her in return; 
and then, as freely as her husband had given it to 
him, even so freely he gave the same to her again, 
to present to her husband as her New Year's gift; 
and which she received, though with some reluc- 
tance, and carried back with her again." To the 
truth of this the woman herself, and others there 
present, deposed, and a smile was on the face of all 
the council, except the president, who lost no time 
in withdrawing from the chamber. To use an ex- 
pression of More's, " Men's accusations are often- 
times very hot and violent : but a very cool tale 
follows, when the simple truth is known." 

Sir Thomas now withdrew his attention altoge- 
gether from public affairs, and devoted his leisure 
to study and devotion. He completed different 
controversial works which he had begun during his 
chancellorship, and gave them to the public. To 
this period, belong his celebrated "Apology," the 
second part of his " Reply to Tindall," the treatise 
entitled "The Debellation of Salem and Byzance," 
and a reply in five books to an anonymous treatise, 
called " The Supper of the Lord." These works 
show the extent of More's learning, and his tact in 
polemic warfare; and have often been resorted to by 
later divines, as arsenals stored with materials for 
the defence of the faith. How far wit and humor 
are suitable weapons in a contest involving inte- 
rests so solemn and important, we shall not stop to 
examine; but if it be allowed the champion of truth 
to employ them, certain it is that More has wielded 
them with vigor and address. The contrast be- 
tween this lighter warfare, and the solemn and 
touching passages which stand in juxtaposition, 
has a very singular effect. Take an example or 
two; He has a well-conducted argument, termi- 
nating in the following forcible sentence: " There- 
fore, to tell me to leave the truth as taught in the 
known church, and seek it in an unknown, is to 



S13 



SIR THOMAS MORE, 



persuade me to renounce the light of the sun in 
order to pick my way by a rush-light." This is 
immediately succeeded by the following apt, but 
whimsical illustration: 

" Now-a-days, there are almost as many sects as 
there are men, and not one agreeth with the other. 
Hence, to try and learn the right way of them, is 
much the same, as if a man walking in a deep forest, 
would fain find the way to the town for which he 
is making, and should inquire of a parcel of lewd 
mocking knaves, who, when the bewildered man 
had prayed them to tell him the way, should get 
them into a roundel^ [circle], turning them back 
to back, and then speaking all at once, should each 
one cry, ' This way!' pointing with his finger in 
the direction of his nose." (p. 707.) 

After a solemn warning to Tindal against relapse 
into error, and his inconsistency in allowing that to 
be truth to day, which he will disavow to-morrow, 
he breaks off as follows: " Though he confessed 
it before, yet would he now secretly steal back 
again, not willingly, peradventure, but that the Old 
One puUeth him back by his coat-skirt unawares." 
(p. 569.) 

His illustrations are frequently very whimsical. 

" He writeth well and fluently, and in reading 
his books this is the eflfect: — the tale is all very well 
as long as it is telling, and goeth as fair and as 
smooth over a man's ear, as the water goeth over a 
goose's back: but let the water tarry still for a time, 
and it will even go well to the skin." (p. 756.) 

" So long as Tindall trieth his logic sadly [seri- 
ously], it may be endured, but his merriment is sad- 
der still; he jesteth as adroitly as a camel danceth." 
(p. 760.) 

"When I tell him of Christ's promise that he 
would leave behind him a spouse, his Church, 
without spot or wrinkle, and yet that from his ex- 
position it would appear otherwise; he equivocates, 
he scuds in and out like a hare with a dozen brace 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 213 

of greyhounds after her, and finally he slinks slily 
away by saying, that the Church overbad spots and 
wrinkles of sin, and yet for all that the Cburch of 
Christ is very pure and clean, because abiding in 
the knowledge of her spots and wrinkles, and ask- 
ing mercy for them, God layeth none of them to 
her charge. I know not what to make of a church 
pure and clean, and yet with spots and wrinkles 
both. 1 had as lieve he had told us, that if there were 
a woman with a crooked nose, yet as long as no 
man tell her of it, so long her nose stood straight." 
(p. 750.) 

" The common received belief of Christ's uni- 
versal Church, is argument enough for the simple 
Catholic. For, as if a sophister with a fond argu- 
ment should prove to a simple soul, that two eggs 
were three, because there is one, and there are 
twain; now, one and twain make three: yet the sim- 
ple unlearned man, though he lack logic to foil 
his fond argument, yet hath wit enough to laugh 
thereat, and, eating the two eggs himself, to bid the 
sophister take and eat the third. So is every faith- 
ful man as sure in the sight of his own soul, how 
speciousl3r soever an adversary argue from scrip- 
ture against his faith, that what he is taught is true; 
it being true because taught him by the Church, 
whom the Spirit of God leads into all the truth." 
(p. 650.) 

One other extract, and we have done. 

" In reasoning with one of Luther's progenj'-, 
who was more zealous than well-read, 1 told him I 
had a witness in my favor whom I would produce. 
Who is it] quoth he; and when I named Origen, he 
shrunk back and said; " I had rather go manj'- a 
good mile about than meet with that man. It is the 
same that Bishop Fisher brought in against a friend 
of mine, and he told me he could not stand against 
him, so right cunning a man was he; and he ended 
by asking me whether the man were not a stranger 
in these parts." 

What follows is too curious to be omitted. 



214 



SIR THOMAS MORE, 



" Tinddll asks me, why I have not contended 
with Erasmus, whom he calleth my darling, for all 
this long while, for translating this word ecdesia 
into congregatio. And then he cometh forth with 
this right proper taunt, that I favor him of likelihood 
for his making of his book of Moria in my house. 
There had he caught me, lo! save for lack of a lit- 
tle salt. I have not contended with Erasmus, my 
darling, because I found no such malicious intent 
with Erasmus, my darling, as I find with Tindall. 
For had 1 found with Erasmus, my darling, the 
shrewd intent and purpose that I find in Tindall, 
Erasmus should no longer be any darling of mine. 
But 1 find in Erasmus, my darling, that he detest- 
€th and abhorreth the errors and heresies of Tindall, 
and therefore, Erasmus, my darling, shall be my 
darling still. And surely had Tindall never taught 
these errors, or had the grace to revoke them, then 
should Tindall be my darling too. But while he 
holdeth such heretical style, 1 cannot take for my 
darling, him that the devil taketh for his darling. 

" As touching 31oria^ in which Erasmus, under 
the Greek name of Moria (Folly), doth merely 
touch and reprove such faults and follies as he 
found in any kind of people, running through every 
state and condition, spiritual and temporal, leaving 
almost none untouched; by which book, Tindall 
saith, if it were in English, every man would then 
well see, that I was then far otherwise minded than 
when [ now write. If this be true, then the more 
cause have I to thank God for my amendment. But 
surely this is true. For God be thanked, I never 
had that mind in my life to have the blessed saints' 
images or their holy relics out of reverence. But if 
there were any such thing in Moria, it could not 
make any man see that I was of that mind, the book 
being made by another man, though he were my 
darling never so dear. Howbeit, that book of Moria 
doth but jest upon the abuses of such things, after 
the manner of the disourh [clown's] part in a 
play; nor yet so far either as the Messenger 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 215 

doth in my Dialogue, which yet I have suffered to 
stand there, and that rather by the counsel of other 
men, than of myself. For, albeit, it be lawful for 
any man to mislike the misuse of every good thing, 
and that in my Dialogue there be not only those 
evil things rehearsed and answered, and the good- 
ness of the thing plainly proved, yet hath Tindall 
by erroneous books so envenomed the hearts of 
lewdly disposed persons, that men can scarcely 
speak of these things now-a-days, so much as in 
play, but that such evil hearers wax a great deal 
the w^orse . . . Therefore, in these days, in which 
men, by their own default, misconstrue and take as 
harm the very scripture of God, I would not now 
translate Maria into English, nor some works either 
that I have myself written ere this; albeit there be 
no harm therein intended. But yet folks being, as 
they are, given to take harm of that which is good, 
I would not only, with my own hands, help to burn 
my darling's book, but mine own also, rather than 
folks should, through their own fault, take any 
harm therefrom; seeing that it is likely in these 
days they would so do, 

" But now, after this, Tindall handleth me full dis- 
courteously, for he taketh away all the thanks and 
reward I should have had of the Spirituality. For 
he showeth them that I wrote not the book for any 
affection that I bore to them, but that I did it for 
the lucre that should come thereof, after which he 
said I so sore hunger, that, as my good friend, he 
prays for me that I eat not too fast for choaking. 

" Now, if the Spirituality had been about to have 
gathered a disme [tenth] among them, to give it to 
me, Tindall here had lost it me every penny. But 
heaven forgive the good man, as I do. For when 
he speaketh of my lucre, in good faith he makeih 
me laugh, and so I ween he maketh many more do, 
who know well (God be thanked!) that I have not 
so much lucre thereby, that I stand in any great peril 
of choaking. This lies not in my breast, and is not 
among my peccadillos, though in searching to the 



216 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

bottom of my breast, I found some pretty ones 
there, such as I will not, however, confess to Father 
Tindall, because he saith confessors keep no coun- 
sel." (p. 423.) 

"It is evident," says Sir James Mackintosh, 
"that our two philosophers, who found all the fair 
visions they had been led to frame, dispelled by 
noise and violence, deeply felt the injustice of cit- 
ing- against them, as a proof of inconsistency, that 
they departed from the pleasantries, the gay dreams, 
at most the fond speculations, of their early days, 
when they saw those harmless visions turned into 
weapons of destruction in the blood-stained hands 
of the boors of Saxony, and of the ferocious fanatics 
of Munster. The virtuous love of peace might be 
more prevalent in More; the desire of personal ease 
predominated more in Erasmus. But both were, 
doubtless from commendable or excusable causes, 
incensed against those odious disciples, who now, 
' and with no friendly voice,' invoked their author- 
ity against themselves." 

With respect to Erasmus, More never cooled in 
his affection to the man, but he could not approve 
the latitude of the writer. Cresacre observes of 
him, that though " he could utter his mind in most 
eloquent phrase, yet did he always take a delight 
in scoffing at religious matters, and finding fault 
with the clergy. He took upon him to censure 
the fathers of the church at his pleasure, and in his 
writings he is said to have hatched the egg that 
Luther had laid. Yet is he not to be accounted 
heretical, for he was never obstinate in any of his 
opinions. He always lived a Catholic priest, and 
wrote sharply against the new gospellers, who 
then began to appear in the world. He declares, in 
one of his letters, that he hates these seditious 
opinions, with which the world is so miserably 
shaken. But he is justly censured by the church 
as a busy fellow." Finally, having found in the 
works of his friend many things necessary to be 
amended, he seriously advised him to imitate the 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 317 

example of the great St. Augustine, by making; 
some atonement to the world in a Book of Retrac- 
tions, to correct what he had unadvisedly written 
in the heat of youth. But Erasmus had not St. 
Augustine's humility, and he never followed this 
good counsel. 

To this period, also, must be referred More's " Let- 
ter relative to John Frith's paper against the Blessed 
Sacrament of the Altar." This is, perhaps, one of 
the most touching of all Sir Thomas's compositions. 
(See Selections.) Frith was a young man, who had 
formerly placed himself under More's care, but af- 
terwards became a zealous advocate of the new 
opinions. This touching remonstrance of his af- 
fectionate master was" unavailing; Frith persevered 
in his errors, and perished in the flames of Smith- 
field, which were lighted by Henry alike against 
the Catholic and the Protestant.* 

Among the many annoyances to which poor 
authors are subject, not the least is that of being 
solicited by the brethren of the craft, to read over 
their blotted manuscripts, to counsel, revise, and re- 
touch. More was attacked by one of the tribe, but 
ho contrived to escape with admirable address. 
Cresacre tells the anecdote with all his wonted 
naivete. " A certain friend of More's had taken 
great pains to write a book, which he would have 
set out, thinking well of his own wit, though he 
could find no other to praise it. And wishing Sir 
Thomas to oversee it before it was printed, he 
brought it to him to view. More perusing it, and 
finding no matter therein worth the print, said to 
him with a grave countenance; 'If it had been in 
verse, it w"ould be of more worth.' Away went 
the man, and turned it into verse, and again brought 

* Cluas tua religio, pari sic jure necare 
i;^iie Lutheranos, Catholicosque cruce? 

Henry Holland (1540.) 

What faith is that, whose rancorous hate will strike 
Both Catholic and Lutheran alike? W. 

19 



218 SIR THOMAS MORE, 



the man in his odd way; " Yea, marry, my friend, 
now it is somewhat, for now it is rhyme: before it 
was neither rhyme nor reason."* 

1533. We must now glance for an instant at the 
position of things in that court, from the infection 
of which More had providentially escaped. Five 
years had now rolled away, since Henry first soli- 
cited a divorce, and three since he had begun to 
cohabit with Anne Boleyn; yet still he appeared to 
have made but little progress towards the attain- 
ment of his object. He had, however, learned the 
bitter truth, that " The way of the adulterer is 
hedged with thorns." {Husea vi. 6.) 

A priest, of the name of Cranmer, had long been 
attached to the family of the Earl of Wiltshire, the 
father of Anne Boleyn. It was he who first sug- 
gested the idea of consulting the universities of 
Europe on the king's divorce, and on learning 
which, Henry, delighted at the novelty of the thing, 
had exclaimed; " That man has got the right sow 
by the ear!"f Anne had long known the man in 
her father's family, and with that address of which 
she was mistress, had penetrated fully into his cha- 
racter, and calculated to what purpose she could 

* The anecdote is thus versified in an anonymous volume 
of the date of 1C06, called the Mouse Trap. 

Paulus a pamphlet doth in prose present 

Unto the knight, the fruit of idle time; 
The critic said he should be more content 

To see the thing converted into rhyme: 
More said, when done, and duly brought in season; 
" Now it is rhyme: before, it was nor rhyme nor reason." 

t Nor was this the only sow that Cranmer got by the ear: 
the world is indebted to him for the glory, such as it is, of hav- 
ing discovered the astounding fact, that the sovereign pontiff 
is the anti-christ of the A[)olcalypse! and so pleased was he 
with the notion, that he made it tlie theme of several edifying 
discourses. Many a hungry parson has to thank Cranmer for 
this bright invention, for it has been the means by which store 
of fat benefices have been obtained. When the idea was first 
started, it filled the pions Catholic with horror: it is now hooted 
at from one end of Christendom to the other, and might subject 
the serious asserter to the penalty of a strait waistcoat. 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 219 

turn the natural pliability of his temper. His ser- 
vices in the cause of the divorce were secured and 
amply remunerated; but a still higher meed of 
his devotedness awaited him. On the death of the 
good Warham, Henry raised him to the highest 
ecclesiastical honor in the kingdom, sure to find 
in him an Archbishop of Canterbury according fo 
his own heart; "a station," remarks Sir J. M'ln- 
tosh, " which was in fact, the unsuitable reward of 
diplomatic activity for a very ambiguous purpose." 
The following items in " The State Papers" 
will enable us to trace correctly the remaining steps 
of the divorce. On the 30lh of March, Cranmer 
was consecrated to the See of Canterbury. With 
one hand he received the papal bulls, by virtue of 
Avhich he was invested with the pall, and with the 
other he surrendered them to the crown, declaring 
that he did not recognise the pontiff as the giver 
of the ecclesiastical dignity he was in the act of 
receiving from his hands: at one and the same mo- 
ment, taking the oath of canonical obedience to 
the pope, and protesting that he did not believe in 
the assertions it contained.* Exactly twelve days 
after this chivalrous transaction, [April 11th], we 
find a letter from Cranmer to the king, and the an- 
swer of Henry to the same. They represent one 
of many solemn and hypocritical farces that were 
enacted between the king and his pliant archbishop: 
for they had acquired a wonderful facility of play- 
ing into each other's hands. Cranmer begs that, 
" for as much as it hath pleased Almighty God and 
the king's grace to call him, albeit a poor wretch 
and most unworthy, to the high oiTice of Primate, 
that he would grant him his royal licence to proceed 
in the affair of the divorce, and bring it at once to 



* " Upon the moral character of this transaction it-is unne- 
cessary to dwell. If such a protest be invested with any validity, 
oaths cease to bind, and truth and sincerity in the afl'airs of 
life are empty somiAs."— {British Statesmen, p. 157.) And yet 
a long and labored defence of this immorality has been recently 
published by an eminent divine of the Church of England. 



220 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

an issue, and that for the exoneration . of his own 
conscience, and the performance of his duty to his 
country; for, he adds, the deciding upon the divorce 
would dispel "the obloquy and bruit, which daily 
spring- up and increase, of the clergy of the realm, 
and put outof doubtall such inconveniences, perils, 
and dangers as the rude and ignorant people do 
speak, and talk to be imminent.' " 

April 14. Is the king's answer to Cranmer. He 
is sorry to see " the uncertainty of our succession, 
whereby our said people is seen to be not a little 
offended;" he wishes him " by reason of his office of 
primacy, to set some direction and end in the said 
great cause of matrimony, according to the pleasure 
of Almighty God, inasmuch as it hath so long re- 
mained undetermined, to our great and grievous 
unquietness and burthen of conscience." 

May 12. A letter from Cranmer to Henry. A 
monition has been served on Queen Catharine, and, 
from her refusal to receive it, she is pronounced 
truly and manifestly contumacious. 

May 17. Cranmer is at Dunstable, the residence 
of Queen Catharine, and writes to the king, to 
advertise his highness, that his grace's great matter 
is now brought to a final sentence, to be given 
upon Friday next ensuing; " at which time, 1 trust 
so to endeavor myself further in this behalf, as shall 
become me to do; to the pleasure of Almighty God, 
and the mere truth of the matter." 

May 23. Cranmer again to Henry, " advertising 
his highness, that this 23d day of May, he has 
given sentence in his grace's great and weighty 
cause." What he adds shows that no time had 
been lost; " by the letter by Mr. Thurlesby [whom 
Henry made bishop of Westminster five years after, 
the only bishop of that see,] I was advertised of your 
grace's pleasure, that I should cause your grace's 
council to conceive a procuratory concerning a second 
matrimony; I have sent the said letters to them, and 
required them to do according to the tenor thereof, 
most humbly beseeching your highness that I may 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 231 

know your grace's further pleasure concerning the 
same matrimony, as soon as your grace, with your 
council, shall be perfectly resolved therein. For the 
time of the coronation is so near at hand, that the 
matter requireth good expedition." 

July 3, 4. Letters of Lord Mountjoy to the 
council, containing the report of the conference 
with Queen Catharine, at her residence at Ampthill. 
We shall have occasion to quote these letters more 
at large. 

September 7. A letter of Anne Boleyn to Lord 
Cobham, announcing the birth, on that day, of the 
princess Elizabeth. 

October 10. Letter of Lord Mountjoy to Crum- 
well. Many of Catharine's household refuse to 
call her otherwise than Queen. He is tired of 
being her chamberlain and wishes to resign. 

December 19. Letters of the Duke of Suffolk and 
of the council to the king, containing a report of 
their conference with Catharine, who, we find, has 
removed to Bugden. 

May 21, 1534. Letter of Archbishop Lee and 
Bishop Tunstall to the king. As the lay members of 
the council had been unsuccessful in persuading 
Catharine to acquiesce in the divorce, it was resolved 
to try what effect the clergy could produce, and the 
present is the report of their conference. All will not 
do; Catharine is still determined to be queen in 
spite of them, and will not concede one jot of her 
privilege. 

September 14. Letter of Clerke, Bishop of Wells, 
to Crumwell, reporting a preacher, who had accident- 
ally prayed for Queen Catharine, instead of Queen 
Anne. This unconscious partizan of the queen who 
does his duty by the mere force of habit, we find to 
be Dr. Carsley, Canon of Wells Cathedral, who is 
made to express his deep contrition for an offence, 
which his bishop thinks grave enough to be reported 
to the council! 

Speaking of the divorce and the subsequent mar- 
riage, Cresacre remarks, that this farce " was the 
19* 



222 



SIR THOMAS MORE, 



beginning of a lamentable tragedy, the end whereof 
we cannot yet see, though there have been almost 
one hundred years since." Better than three hun- 
dred years have now elapsed, and yet, humanly 
speaking, is there any better prospect of the de- 
nouement of this great drama] 

On the 25th of January, Henry was privately mar- 
ried to Anne, and her coronation took place on the 1st 
of June. The pageant, for obvions reasons, was 
more splendid and imposing than any thing of the 
kind ever witnessed before. Aware of the weight 
of More's opinion, the king tried every possible 
means to obtain, at least, the appearance of his ap- 
probation of the proceedings. With this view he 
commanded the bishops of Durham, Bath, and Win- 
chester, to desire his attendance at the coronation. 
They were ordered to write a letter to persuade him 
to join the procession, and to accompanyit with the 
needful present of 20/. to buy a court dress. More, 
in his usual odd manner, exused himself from attend- 
ing, but said the 20/. might as w^ell stay where it 
was. But, added he, in a solemn tone, "Take 
heed, my lords, take heed lest by procuring your 
lordships to be present at the coronation, they will 
next ask you to preach for the setting forth of the 
same; and finally, to write books to all the M^orld, in 
its defence." Speaking of Anne Boleyn and her 
coronation. More observed to his family; " How 
often when we think we are soaring the highest, 
will fate come and pluck us out of our feathers, 
and suddenly down we come to the earth again!" 
When some one told him of the festive doings on 
this occasion, he replied in the old saw, — " They 
dance well for whom fortune pays the piper;" but 
let them take heed that " the end of the feast, be 
not the beginning of a fray." More felt, that, to 
attend the coronation of this second-hand queen, 
would be to turn his back on his old mistress, and 
insult her in the hour of her distress. To use the 
phrase of a statesman of a following reign, he was 
not " One of those glow-worms that shine in the 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 223 

summer of their friends' good fortune, but crawl 
away in the adverse storm." {Lord Burleigh.) 

More had a keen eye to the issues of things. 
When Roper had some time before informed him 
of the Iving's marriage, he mused for a while, with 
his finger to his forehead, and then observed: 
"Roper, my son, they'll not let this matter rest 
here; I pray to God that it be not confirmed with 
oaths, and enforced with much severity]" That 
More was no false prophet, the events of a few short 
months will show. It is conjectured that More's 
unreserve in uttering his sentiments and his intre- 
pidity in refusing compliances hostile to his feelings 
and his conscience, were carried to the ear of Anne 
Boleyn, and that she was an active agent in exci- 
ting Henry's future rigor against his old and faith- 
ful servant. It might have been imagined that she 
had exhausted all her spite upon the unfortunate 
Wolsey, but, 

" The depths of woman's malice who can tell?" 

We mustbe allowed to direct the reader's attention 
for a moment to the much injured Catharine, and 
to the repeated attempts made to intimidate her into 
an abjuration of her rights and dignities. On the 
3d of July, as we have already seen, the Lord Mount- 
joy and others repaired to her residence atAmpthill, 
to state to her the king's determination. They 
found her indisposed with a cough and lying upon 
a pallet. When told the title she was henceforward 
to bear, she said " that she was not Princess Dowa- 
ger, but the Queen, and the king's true wife; that she 
came to the king a pure maiden, and thereupon was 
crowned and anointed queen, and had by the king 
lawful issue and no bastardy* wherefore the name of 
queen she would vindicate, challenge, and so call 
herself during her life. That it stood neither with 

* It is clear from the significant tone in which this was ut- 
tered, that Catharine knew of the actual situation of the wo- 
uiau for whose impure embraces her husband had deserted her 



224 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

the law of God, nor raan, nor with the king's honor 
to have two queens." 

" When we alleged to her, that, if she reserved the 
name of queen, it was thought she would do it for 
a vain desire and appetite of glory, whereby she 
would provoke the king's highness, not only against 
her, but also against her whole family and servants, 
and furthermore be an occasion that the king would 
withdraw his fatherly love from her honorable and 
dearest daughter, the Lady Princess, by reason of 
her unkindness, and that this should move her, if 
no other cause did. To this her answer was: As 
for any vain glory, it was not that she desired the 
name of a queen, but only for discharge of her con- 
science, to declare herself the king's very true wife; 
as to the Princess, her daughter, she said that she 
was the king's true begotten child, and as God had 
given her to them, so, for her part, she would ren- 
der her again to the king, as his daughter, to do with 
her as shall stand with his pleasure; trusting to God, 
that she will prove an honest woman. In fine, 
that neither for her daughter, family, possession, or 
any worldly adversity, or displeasure, that might 
ensue, would she yield in this cause, to put her 
soul in danger; alleging the words of the Gospel, 
that they were not to be feared who have power 
over the body, but He only, that hath power over 
the soul." 

On the day following, they repaired to her again 
to read over their report of what had passed the 
day previous. When they came to the words Prin- 
cess Dowager, she asked forthe papers, " and calling 
for pen and ink, in such places as she found the 
name of Princess Dowager, she with her pen struck 
it out, as it is apparent."* When the paper, thus 
amended by her hand, was read through, she said; 
"That she did not vindicate the name of queen for 
mere appetite of vain glory; she protested that she 



* The obliteration still remains in the authentic document 
ihe State Paper Office. 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 225 

would rather be a poor beggar's wife, and be sure 
of Heaven, than to be queen of all the world, and in 
doubt thereof, by occasion of her own consent. As 
to her being but the king's subject, to that she said, 
as long as the king took her for his wife, she was 
also his subject: but if the king took her not for his 
wife, she said that she came not into this realm on 
merchandise, nor yet to be married to any merchant. 
She added, that she had always demeaned herself 
well and truly towards the king, and if it can be 
proved that, in word or deed, she had done any thing 
prejudicial to his grace or his realm, she is content 
to suffer for it." 

Two months after, another attempt is made to 
subdue the queen's firmness, but with as little 
success as before. The agents employed are the 
Dukes of Sussex, Suffolk, and others; they re- 
present her as " persisting in her great stomach 
and obstinacy," and protesting with a loud voice 
that she would rather be hewn in pieces than 
forswear her lawful title of queen. As Catha- 
rine's old attendants had refused to recognise their 
royal mistress by any but her former title, the 
commission had come with a fresh set of ser- 
vants to replace them. But Catharine's firmness 
so alarmed the new comers, that " when they came 
to take their new oath, they said they were loth to 
serve her, persisting in the mind she was of." When 
the commissioners spoke of removing her toSomer- 
sham, she said "that they would not get her to go 
there, unless they should bind her with ropes." 

Considering the impetuosity of Henry's charac- 
ter, and the arts of the wanton by his side, ever 
prompt to excite to mischief, we are almost disposed 
to wonder how the intrepidity of Catharine escaped 
unpunished. Could the slightest surmise, the ve- 
riest breath of slander have attached to her, how 
eagerly, at a moment like this, w^ould it have been 
turned to her destruction! 

Lee and Tunstal,in their interview with the queen, 
display neither great delicacy, nor much address. 



226 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

They begin by telling- her that the king-, her former 
husband, after being- discharged of the marriage made 
with her, had contracted a new one with his dearest 
wife, queen Anne; that God be thanked, fair issue 
is already sprung of this marriage, and more likely 
to follow.* The effect was what might have been 
expected from a woman of Catharine's keen feelings 
and lofty spirit. She is described as being " in 
great choler and agony, always interrupting our 
words." When they asserted that the consumma- 
tion of her marriage with Henry's brother had been 
proved; with aloud voice she said they lied falsely, 
that so said. She answered, that she was not bound 
to stand to the divorce made by my lord of Canter- 
bury, whom she called a mere shadow; that though 
he had given sentence against her, yet the Pope had 
given sentence with her, whom she took for Christ's 
vicar, and therefore would always obey as a faithful 
daughter; that she would never leave the name of 
queen, and would always take herself for your high- 
ness' wife; in a word, that she would in no wise, 
either for any peril, or loss of her life or goods, re- 
linquish the name of queen, (p. 419.) 

It is painful to see that these two visiters, reve- 
rend churchmen as they were, did not scruple to 
stoop to a falsehood, in order to subserve the pur- 
poses of their royal master. They told Catharine 
that " after his highness was discharged of the mar- 
riage made with her, he contracted a new marriage 
with his dearest wife, queen Anne." The divorce, 
mere form as it was, was pronounced by Cranmer on 
the 28th of May, and Henry had been privately mar- 
ried by Dr. Lee, in a garret at Whitehall, on the 
25th of the January preceding. When the ques- 
tions were naturally asked — " How the king could 
have proceeded to a new marriage, before the former 
had been lawfully annulledr' and " How the right 
of succession could be less doubtful now than be- 

* Do not these overofBcious gentlemen, in the present in- 
stance, illustrate the old proverb, " of counting the chickens be- 
fore the eggs are hatched?" 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 227 

fore?" Henry gravely declared, that " he had ex- 
amined the cause in the court of his own conscience, 
which was enlightened and directed by the spirit 
of God, who guideth the hearts of princes." 

It may reasonably be questioned, whether all his- 
tory can afford an example so fraught with artifice, 
self-delusion, and studied hypocrisy, as the affair 
of the divorce of Henry the Eighth; and yet a 
learned living divine of the established church has 
told the world, that this divorce " was the very cra- 
dle of the reformation in England." 

More's opinions, and the firmness with which he 
had recently resisted the royal will, were now the 
subjects of common discourse, and every dependent 
on the court, every time-serving courtier was ar- 
rayed in a kind of natural hostility against the ex- 
chancellor. The most malignant scrutiny was 
exercised to discover some ground of accusation 
against him. Among others, recourse was had to 
the following. After Henry's divorce had been 
publicly proclaimed, a document was set forth by 
authority, stating the reasons for the measure. A 
report was circulated that Sir Thomas had written 
an answer to it. The accusation was a grave one, 
coming at such a moment, and he felt called upon 
to clear himself of the charge. This was the sub- 
ject of the following letter to Secretary Crumwell. 

Right Worshipful Sir: — In most hearty wise I 
recommend myself to you. My cousin, William 
Rastell, has informed me, that your goodness 
showed him, that it has been reported I have made 
answer against a book of certain articles, lately put 
forth in print by the king's honorable council, and 
delivered it to my said cousin to print. And though 
he, for his part, truly denied it, yet because he 
somewhat remained in doubt whether your Master- 
ship gave him therein full credence or not, he has 
desired me, for his farther discharge, to declare to 
you the very truth. Sir, so help me God, neither 
my said cousin, nor any man else, ever had any 



228 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

book of mine to print, since the said book of the 
king's council came forth. For, in truth, the last 
book he printed of mine was that which I made 
against an unknown heretic, who has sent over a 
work, that walketh through many man's hands, 
named The Supper of The Lord^ against the blessed 
Sacrament of the Altar. My answer to which, al- 
though the printer (unawares to me) dated it 1534, 
by which it seems to be printed since the feast of 
the Circumcision, was, of very truth, both made 
and printed, and many of them gone, before Christ- 
mas. I never espied the printer's oversight in the 
date, till more than three weeks after; the which 
being true, sufficeth for his declaration in this be- 
lief. As touching my own self, I shall say thus 
much farther, that, on my faith, I never made any 
such book, nor ever thought to do so. I read the said 
Book of certain articles once over and never more. 
But I am for one's reading many times, things 
whereof I would have metely sure knowledge, ere 
ever I would make an answer, though the matter 
and the book both concerned the poorest man in the 
town, and were of the simplest man's making too. 
For of many things which in that Book are touched, 
in some I know not the law, and in some I know 
not the fact; and, therefore, would I never be so 
childish, nor so play the proud arrogant fool, by 
whomsoever the book had been made, and to whom- 
soever the matter had belonged, as to presume to 
make an answer to the same, concerning matters 
whereof I was never sufficiently learned in the law, 
nor fully instructed in the fact. But when the mat- 
ter appertained to the King's Highness, and the 
Book professeth openly that it was made by his 
honorable council, and by them put in print with 
his Grace's license, I surely trust, in good faith, that 
of your good mind towards me, though I had never 
written you word thereof, yourself will both think 
and say so much for me, that it were a thing far 
unlikely, that an answer should be made thereto by 
me. I will, by the grace of Almighty God, as long 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 229 

as it shall please him to lend me life in this world, 
in all such places as I am of my duty to God and 
the King's Grace bounden, truly say my mind, and 
discharge my conscience, as becometh a poor hon- 
est true man, wheresoever I shall be by His Grace 
commanded. Yet surely if it should happen that 
any Book should issue abroad in the name of His 
Grace, or of his honorable council, if it seemed such 
as myself would not have given my own advice to 
the making, yet I know my bounden duty, to bear 
more honor to my Prince, and more reverence to 
his honorable council, than that it could become 
me, for many causes, to make an answer to the 
same, or to counsel and advise any man else to do 
it. And, therefore, as it is a thing I never did, nor 
intended, so I heartily beseech you, if you shall 
happen to perceive any man, either of ill-will, or of 
lightness, report any such thing of me, be so good 
a master to me as help to bring us both together; 
and then, never take me for honest after, if you do 
not find his honesty somewhat impaired in the mat- 
ter. Thus, I am bold on your goodness to encum- 
ber you with my long rude letter; in the contents 
whereof, I eftsoons heartily beseech you to be, in 
the manner aforesaid, a good master and friend to 
me; whereby you shall bind me to be your beads- 
man while I live; as knoweth our Lord, whose es- 
pecial grace, both bodily and ghostly, long preserve 
and keep you. At Chelsea, on the Vigil of the 
Purification of our Blessed Lady, [Feb. 1, 1533,] 
by the hand of assuredly all your own 

THOMAS MORE. 

We have seen numerous instances of More's 
faithful prognostications of the future in relation to 
others; we are now to witness his forebodings of 
his own fate, and that of his family. In the position 
he now stood, it needed no prophet's eye to foresee 
the storm that was gathering in the horizon, and 
which was shortly to burst over his head. He 
knew the cruel and impetuous temper of the king, 
20 



230 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

from which his most faithful servants found no secu- 
rity. He was well aware that, if he could not be 
won over to Henry's purpose by gentle means, he 
must prepare for the worst; and he awaited the 
impending blow in silent resignation. There was 
nothing in More of that reckless and fool-hardy 
spirit, that leads a man to brave his fate. As a father, 
he was far from being indifferent to the future lot 
of his wife and children; on the contrary, the blow 
that would reach them through his person, caused 
him to pass many a restless night; and he prayed 
with earnestness for courage to support the blow; 
"for," he observed, "with all my philosophy I find 
that my flesh cannot endure a fillip." Hear how he 
expresses himself on this subject, in a letter which 
he subsequently wrote to Margaret: "And notwith- 
standing also 1 have good hope that God shall never 
suffer so good and wise a prince, in such way to 
requite the long service of his true faithful servant; 
)'-et, since there is nothing impossible to fall, I for- 
get not in this matter the counsel of Christ in the 
Gospel, that ere I should begin to build this castle 
for the safeguard of mine own soul, I should sit 
and reckon what the charge should be. I counted, 
Margaret, full surely many a restless night, while 
my wife slept, and weighed, ere I slept, what peril 
might befall me; so far forth, that I am sure there 
came no care above mine. And in devising there- 
upon, daughter, I had a full heavy heart. But yet, 
I thank our Lord, that, for all that, I never thought 
to change, though the very uttermost should hap- 
pen to me that my fears ran upon." 

He thought it wise to prepare his family for the 
worst, and, in his own characteristic manner, once 
hired a pursuivant to come on a sudden to his house, 
while he was at dinner, and knocking hastily at 
the door, to summon him the next day before the 
Council. Such was his whimsical method of 
schooling his wife and children, the better to meet 
the calamities which he felt were approaching. 
" He would talk to them," says Roper, " of the 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 231' 

joys of heaven and of the pains of hell; of the lives 
of holy martyrs, of their g;rievous pains endured for 
the love of God, and of their passion and death un- 
dergone rather than offend Him. And he would 
add, M^hat a happy and blessed thing it was to suf- 
fer privation of goods, imprisonment, loss of lands, 
and even of life itself in thecauseof Heaven. With 
this, and the like virtuous talk, he had so long be- 
fore his trouble encouraged them, that, when he 
afterwards fell into trouble indeed, it was felt by 
them a great deal the less." 

The close of this year witnessed a memorable 
decision. A convocation of the clergy had been held 
at Canterbury and York: in the former it was re- 
solved, that the Bishop of Rome " had received 
from Heaven no higher jurisdiction, than any other 
foreign bishop," — four voices only opposing it, and 
one doubting; while the convocation of York una- 
nimously came to the same decision. The univer- 
sities of Oxford and Cambridge followed the exam- 
ple of the metropolitan courts; and Cranmer, laying 
aside his style of legate of the Apostolic See, as- 
sumed that of metropolitan. Injunctions were 
issued that the very word " Pope" should be care- 
fully erased out of all books employed in the pub- 
lic worship, and the prayer in his behalf abolished. 
All persons were commanded to speak of him only 
as the Bishop of Rome; while the chapters, and 
collegiate bodies renounced his jurisdiction under 
their common seals, and acknowledged the king's 
unqualified supremacy. 

Henry now saw himself at the height of his ut- 
most ambition, supreme not only in temporal, but 
in spiritual power.* The salutary influence which 
the presence of a Wolsey and a More, exerted upon 
the violence of his nature, had been removed; and 
his will and his passions were catered to by those 

* A bold sarcastic reply was made to the Kins;, by the Lord 
Dacre, Avho, when asked by Henry what he thought of the new 
ecclesiastical authority he had assumed, replied: " If Your 
Majesty has already sinned, and if you should sin hereafter, 
you have now only to absolve yourself !" 



•232 ^IR THOMAS MOKE, 

abject tools of power— a Criimwell and a Craniner. 
The possession of unlimited sway, spiritual and 
temporal, acted fatally upon a heart naturally 
selfish, and which had never known the wholesome 
discipline of misfortune. As Henry advanced in 
years, these united causes produced " that porten- 
tous combination of sensuality and intolerance, 
from which the mind painfully and instinctively 
recoils."* {Tyiler.) 

From the establishment of the king's supremacy, 
the attention of parliament was directed to the suc- 
cession to the crown: and, by another act, the mar- 
riage between Henry and Catharine was pronounced 
unlawful and null, and that between him and Anne 
Boleyn lawful and valid: the king's issue by the 
first marriage was, of course, excluded from the 
succession, that by the second was made inheritable 
of the crown; to slander the said marriage or seek 
to prejudice the succession of the heirs thereof, was 
declared high treason, if the offence was committed 
by writing, printing, or deed; and misprision of trea- 
son, if by words only: and all the king's subjects of 
full age, were commanded to swear obedience to 
the same act, under the penalty of misprision of 
treason. 

* Through tyranny, the virtues of the hearts 

Suffer an ostracism, and depart.— Dr. Donne. (1590) 

When these so nob]e benefits shall prove 

Not well-dispos'd, the mind growing once corrupt, 

'J'hey turn to vicious forms, ten times more ugly 

Than ever they were fair. This man, so complete, 

Hath into monstrous habits put the graces 

That once were his, and is become as black 

As if besmear'd in hell. Henry VIII. 

The germ of Shakspeare's thought may be found in the fol- 
lowing lines of old Flautus. 

Maxima parsmorem hunc homines habent. — 
duod sibi voluiit, dum id impetrant, boni sunt; 
bed id ubi jam p^'ues sese habent. 
Ex bonis pessimi et fraudulentissimi fiunt. 

The greater part of men are thus by nature: — 

VV hile aiming at their purpo;:;e, all is well; 

B It this their end attained, they change at once, 

And from good men become mere knaves and rutfians W. 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 233 

Now was the moment to try men's souls, and 
every conflict between fear and duty was watched 
with a jealous eye. The various discussions on so 
delicate a subject kept the king's mind tremblingly 
alive to every rumor; his jealousy magnified the 
least hint of disapprobation into a crime, which 
nothing but blood could atone. The first who suf- 
fered, were implicated in a conspiracy attributed 
to Elizabeth Barton, known by the name of the 
Holy Maid of Kent. She was a native of Alding- 
ton, in that country and being subject to fits, the 
contortions of her body, and the incoherent expres- 
sions which she uttered during her paroxysms,* 
were attributed by the ignorance of her neigh- 
bors to preternatural agency. She insensibly par- 
took of the delusion, and, at the recommendation 
of the parish rector, professed herself a nun in the 
priory of St. Sepulchre, Canterbury. Here her 
ecstacies and supposed revelations were multiplied; 
and the fame of her sanctity spread widely and de- 
luded many. To use the words of Sir J. Mackintosh, 
"her morbid susceptibility was so excited by Hen- 
ry's profane defiance of the Catholic church, and by 
his cruel desertion of C atharine, his faithful wife, that 
her pious and humane feelings led her to represent, 
and probably to believe, herself to be visited by a 
divine revelation of those punishments which the 
king was about to draw down on himself and on 
the kingdom. In the universal opinion of the six- 
teenth century, such interpositions were considered 
as still occurring." She was apprehended, with 
several others accused of being her accomplices, 
and condemned to stand in the pillory at St. Paul's 
cross, on a Sunday, and confess the imposture. 
The more humane had hoped that Henry would 
have been content with this public avowal of her 
guilt; but he would not be satisfied v/ithout the 
blood of the poor girl,," whose visions" observes the 

* Turner terms them "her vocal effusions;'"' would not this 
phrase lead us to conjecture that the poor girl's ravings were 
given in recitative? 

30*= 



234 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

humane Mackintosh, "were those of a disturbed, if 
not alienated mind." Bishop Fisher was attainted 
by the same act, for having innocently listened to 
some of the nun's revelations, and was committed 
to the Tower. The infirmities of ao^e were upon 
him, for he was now past his eightieth year. In 
his letter to the lords, on occasion of iheir passing 
the bill, he pleaded disease and weakness, as the 
cause of not appearing- in his place, adding; "if I 
had been present in person, I doubt not my manifold 
infirmities would have moved you much more to 
pity the cause whereby I am brought into this 
grievous trouble." We are told by Roper, that 
More's name was originally inserted in the attain- 
der, the king supposing that this bill would be so 
troublous and terrible to Sir Thomas More, that it 
would force him to relent and condescend to his 
request; wherein his grace was much deceived. Sir 
Thomas was personally to be received in his own 
defence to make answer. But the king, not liking 
that, sent the Archbishop of Canterbury, the chan- 
cellor, the Duke of Norfolk, and Crumwell, to 
attempt his conversion. Audley reminded More of 
the king's especial favor and of his many benefits. 
More admitted them, but modestly added, that his 
highness had most graciously declared that, on this 
matter, he should not again be molested. When 
in the end they saw that no persuasion could move 
him, they then said, " that the king's highness had 
given them in commandment, if they could by no 
gentleness win him, in the king's name with in- 
gratitude to charge him, that never was servant to 
his master so villainous, nor subject to his prince 
so traitorous as he." They even reproached him 
for having either written in the name of his master, 
or betrayed his sovereign into writing, the book 
against Luther, which had so deeply pledged Henry 
to the support of papal pretensions. To these up- 
braidings he calmly answered: "These terrors are 
arguments for children, and not for me. As to the 
fact, the king knoweth, that after the book was 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. QSS 

linished by his hig-hness's appointment, 1 was, by 
the consent of the maker, only a sorter out and 
placer of the principal matters therein contained." 
He added, that he warned the king of the prudence 
of "touching' the pope's authority more slenderly, 
and that he had reminded Henry of the statutes of 
praemunire," whereby " a good part of the pope's 
pastoral care was pared away;" to which the im- 
petuous monarch answered, " "We are so much 
bounden unto the see of Rome, that we cannot do 
too much honor unto it." On More's return to 
Chelsea from his interview with these lords. Roper 
said to him — "I hope all is well, since you are so 
merry]" — " It is so, indeed," said More, " I thank 
God" — "Are you, then, out of the parliament 
bill?" said Roper. — "By my troth, I never remem- 
bered it; but," said More, " I will tell thee why I 
was so merry; because I had given the devil a foul 
fall, and that with those lords I had gene so far as, 
without great shame, I never can go back again." 
"A frank avowal of the power of temptation, and a 
simple joy at having, at the hazard of life, escaped 
from the farther seductions of the court, bestow a 
greatness on these few and familiar words, which 
scarcely belongs to any other of the sayings of 
man." {Mackintosh.) 

Henry, incensed at the failure of wheedling and 
threatening messages, broke out into violent decla- 
rations of his resolution to include More in the 
attainder, and said that he vi^ould be personally 
present to ensure the passing of the bill. Lord 
Audley and his colleagues on their knees besought 
their master to forbear, lest by an overthrow in his 
own presence, he might be contemned by his own 
subjects, and dishonored throughout Christendom 
for ever;* adding, that they doubted not that they 

* i2? cL^yaKzov 'TT^ctyfjC Scttiv, m Zev nai Bsoi, 

Aristcipli. Plut. i. 

O Jove and all ye gods, how hard a thing 

To serve a wicked and a senseless king! \V. 



236 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

should find a more meet occasion " to serve his 
turn;" for that in this case of the nun he was so 
clearly innocent, that men deemed him far worthier 
of praise than of reproof. Henry was compelled to 
yield.* " Such," says Mackintosh, " was the power 
of defenceless virtue over the slender remains of 
independence among slavish peers, and over the lin- 
gering remnants of common humanity which might 
still be mingled with a cooler policy in the bosoms 
of subservient politicians." One of the worst of 
that race, Thomas C rum well, on meeting Roper 
in the parliament house next day after the king 
assented to the prayer of his ministers, bade him 
tell More that he was put out of the bill. Roper 
sent a messenger to Margaret Roper, who hastened 
to her beloved father with the tidings. More an- 
swered her with his usual gayety and fondness, 
" In faith, Megg, what is put off is not given up."f 
Soon after, the Duke of Norfolk said to him — " By 
the mass! Master More, it is perilous striving with 
princes; the anger of a prince brings death." — " Is 
that all, my lord] then the difference between you 
and me is but this — that I shall die to-day and you 
to-morrow.^'' "No life in Plutarch is more full of 
happy sayings and striking retorts than that of 
More. But the terseness and liveliness of his are 
justly overlooked in the contemplation of that union 
of perfect simplicity with moral grandeur, which, 
perhaps, no other human being has so uniformly 
reached."- — Sir J. Mackintosh. 



In Bishop Godvvyn's Annals (1616) is a portrait of Henry 
VHI , with this epigr^iph: Regem dedi iratus eis — I gave them a 
king in my auger. 

f-n * The house of lords addressed the king, praying him to de- 
clare whether it would he agreeable to his pleasure, that SirT.. 
More and others should not be heard in tlieir own defence be- 
fore " the lords in the royal senale called the Stere Chamber." 
Nothing more appears on the journals relative to this matter. 
liOrds' Jourii. 6th March, 1533. The journals prove the narra- 
tive of Roper, from which the text is composed, to be as accu- 
rate as it is beautiful. 

t He spoke to her in his conversational Latin—" Qnod difer- 
tur non avferf.ur.'' 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 237 

The reader will be gratified b}^ listening to More's 
simple and honest statement of the singular atFair 
of the nun. Not content with clearing his conduct in 
the following letter to secretary Crumwell, he also 
addressed another to the king, pleading very feel- 
ingly his past services in his favor. 

Sir Tho7nas More to Secretary Crumwell. 

Right Worshipful — After my most hearty recom- 
mendation, with like thanks for your goodness in 
accepting of my rude long letter: 1 perceive, that, of 
your further goodness and favor towards me, itliked 
your mastership to break with my son Roper of 
that, that I had had communication, not only with 
divers that were of acquaintance with the lewd* 
nun of Canterbury, but also with herself; and had, 
over that, by my writing, declaring favor towards 
her, given her advice and counsel; of which my 
demeanor, that it liketh you to be content to take 
the labor and the pain to hear, by mine own writing, 
the truth, I very heartily thank you, and reckon 
myself therein right deeply beholden to you. 

It is, I suppose, about eight or nine years ago 
since I heard of that housewife first; at which time, 
the Bishop of Canterbury that then was — God assoil 
his soul! sent unto the king's grace a roll of paper, 
in which were written certain words of hers, that 
she had, as report was then made, at sundry times 
spoken in her trances; whereupon it pleased the 
king's grace to deliver me the roll, commanding 
me to look therein, and afterwards show him what 
I thought thereon. Whereunto, at another time, 
when his highness asked me, I told him, that in 
good faith I found nothing in these words that I 
could any thing regard or esteem; for seeing that 
some part fell in rhyme, and that, God wot, full 
rude also; for any reabon, God wot, that I saw 
therein, a right simple woman might, in my mind, 
speak it of her own wit well enough. Howbeit, I 

* Lewd in the acceptation of this age signified ignorant. 



238 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

said, that because it was constantly reported for a 
truth, that God wrouo;ht in her, and that a miracle 
was showed upon her, I durst not, nor would not, 
be bold in judging- the matter. And the kinjg's 
gr?ice, as methonght, esteemed the matter as light 
as it after proved lewd. 

From that time, till about Christmas was twelve- 
month, albeit that continually there was much talk- 
ing of her, and of her holiness, yet never heard I 
any talk rehearsed, either of revelation of hers, or 
miracle, saving that I heard say divers times, in 
my lord cardinal's days, that she had been both with 
his lordship, and with the king's grace, but what 
she said, either to the one or to the other, upon my 
faith, I had never heard any one word. Now, as I 
was about to tell you, about Christmas was twelve- 
month. Father Risby, Friar Observant, then of Can- 
terbury, lodged one night at mine house; where, 
after supper, a little before he went to his chamber, 
he fell in communication with me of the nun, 
giving her high commendation of holiness, and that 
it was wonderful to see and understand the works 
that God wrought in her; which thing, I answered, 
that I was very glad to hear, and thanked God 
thereof. Then he told me, that she had been with 
my lord legate in his lifetime, and with the king's 
grace too; and that she had told my lord legate a 
revelation of hers, of three swords that God hath 
put in my lord legate's hand, which if he ordered 
not well, God would lay it sore to his charge. The 
first, she said, was the ordering the spirituality 
under the Pope, as legate; the second, the rule 
that he bore in ord r of the temporality under the 
king, as his chancellor; and the third, she said, 
was the meddling he was put in trust with by the 
king, concerning the great matter of his marriage. 
And therewithal I said unto him, that any revela- 
tion of the king's matters I would not hear of. I 
doubte ' not but the goodness of God would direct 
his highness, with his grace and wisdom, that the 
thing should take such end as God should be pleased 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 239 

with, to the king's honor and surety of the realm. 
When he heard me say these words, or the like, 
he said unto me, that God had specially com- 
manded her to pray for the king; and forthwith he 
broke again into hqr revelations concerning the car- 
dinal, tfiat his soul v/as saved by her mediation; 
and without any other communication went unto 
his chamber. And he and I never talked any 
more of any such manner of matter, nor, since his 
departing on the morrow, did I ever see him after- 
wards, to my remembrance, till I saw him at Paul's 
Cross. 

After this, about Shrovetide, there came unto me, 
a Hitle before supper. Father Rich, Friar Observant 
of Richmond; and as we fell in talking, I asked 
him of Father Risby, how he did] And upon that 
occasion, he asked me, whether Father Risby had 
any thing showed me of the holy Nun of Kent? 
and I said. Yea, and that I was very glad to hear 
of her virtue. I would not, quoth he, tell you 
again what you have heard of her already; but I 
have heard and known many great graces that 
God hath wrought in her, and in other folk by her, 
which I would gladly tell you, if I thought you 
had not heard them already. And therewith he 
asked me, whether Father Risby had told me any 
thing of her being with my lord cardinal; and 1 
said, Yea: then he told you, quoth he, of the three 
swords: Yea verily, quoth I. Did he tell you, 
quoth he, of the revelations that she had concern- 
ing the king's grace? Nay, forsooth, quoth I, nor 
if he would have done so, would I have given him 
the hearing. Nor verily no more I would indeed, for 
since she hath been with the king's grace herself, 
and told him, methought it a thing needless to tell 
it to me, or to any man else. And when Father Rich 
perceived that I would not hear her revelations 
concerning the king's grace, he talked on a little 
of her virtue, and let her revelations alone; and 
therewith my supper was set upon the board, where 
I required him to sit with me; but he would in no 



240 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

wise tarry, but departed to London. After that 
night I talked with him twice, once in mine own 
house, another time in his own garden at the Friars, 
at every time a great space, but not of any revela- 
tions touching the king's grace, but only of other 
mean talk, I knew not what, of which things, 
some were very strange, and some were very child- 
ish. But albeit, that he said, he had seen her lie 
in her trance in great pains, and that he had at 
other times taken great spiritual comfort in her 
communication, yet did he never tell me that she 
had told him those tales herself; for if he had, I 
would, for the tale of Mary Magdalene which he 
told me, and for the tale of the Host, with which, 
as I have heard, she said she was houseled at the 
king's mass at Calais: if I had heard it of him, as 
told unto himself by her mouth for a revelation, I 
should have both liked him and her the worse. But 
whether ever I heard the same tale of Rich or of 
Risby, or of neither of them both, but of some other 
man, since she was in hold, in good faith 1 cannot 
tell; but I wot well when or wheresoever I heard 
it, methought it a tale too marvellous to be true, 
and very likely that she had told some man her 
dream, who told it again for a revelation. And in 
effect, I little doubted but that some of these tales 
that were told of her were untrue; but yet, since I 
never heard them reported as spoken by her own 
mouth, I thought nevertheless that many of them 
might be true, and she a very virtuous woman too; 
as some lies be, peradventure, written of some that 
be saints in heaven, and yet many miracles indeed 
done by them for all that. 

After this, I being upon a day at Sion, and talk- 
ing with divers of the fathers together at the grate, 
they showed me that she had been with them, and 
showed me divers things that some of them mis- 
liked in her; and in this talking, they wished that 
I had spoken with her, and said, they would fain 
see how I should like her. Whereupon, afterward, 
when I heard that she was there again, I came 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 241 

thither to see her, and to speak with her myself. 
At which communication had in a little chapel, 
there were none present but we two: in the begin- 
ing- whereof, I showed that my coming to her was 
not of any curious mind, any thing to know of such 
things as folk talked, that it pleased God to reveal 
and show unto her, but for the great virtue that I 
had heard so many years, every day more and 
more spoken and reported of her; I therefore had a 
great mind to see, and be acquainted with her, that 
she might have somewhat the more occasion to 
remember me to God in her devotion and prayers: 
whereunto she gave me a very good virtuous an- 
swer: That as God did of his goodness far better 
by her than she, a poor wretch, was worthy, so 
she feared that many folk yet beside that spoke 
of their own favorable minds many things for her, 
far above the truth, and that of me she had many 
such things heard, that already she prayed for me, 
and ever would; whereof I heartily thanked her. I 
said unto her: Madame, one Hellen, a maiden dwel- 
ling about Totnam, of whose trances and revela- 
tions there hath been much talking, hath been with 
me of late, and showed me that she was with you, 
and that after the rehearsal of such visions as she 
had seen, you showed her that they were no reve- 
lations, but plain illusions of the Devil, and advised 
her to cast them out of her mind. And verily she 
gave therein good credence unto you, and thereupon 
hath left to lean any longer unto such visions of 
her own: whereupon she saith, she findeth your 
words true, for ever since she hath been less 
visited with such things than she was wont to be 
before. To this she answered me: Forsooth, sir, 
there is in this point no praise unto me; but the 
goodness of God, as it appeareth, hath wrought 
much meekness in her soul, w^ho hath taken my rude 
warning so well, and not grudged to hear her spirit 
and her visions reproved. 1 liked her, in good 
faith, better for this answer, than for many of the 
things that I heard reported by her. Afterward 
21 



342 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

she told me, upon that occasion, how great need 
folk have that are visited vv^ith such visions to take 
heed and prove vi^ell of what spirit they come of; 
and in that communication she told me, that of late 
the Devil, in the likeness of a bird, was flying- and 
fluttering about her in a chamber, and suffered him- 
self to be taken; and being in hands, suddenly 
changed, in their sight that were present, into such 
a strange ugly-fashioned bird, that they were all 
afraid, and threw him out at a window. 

For conclusion: we talked no word of the king's 
grace, or of any great personage else, nor in effect, of 
any man or woman, but of herself and myself; but 
after no long communication had, for ere ever we 
met, my time came to go home, I gave her a double 
ducat, and begged her to pray for me and mine, and 
so departed from her, and never spake with her after. 
Howbeit, of a truth, 1 had a great good opinion of 
her, and had her in great estimation, as you shall 
perceive by the letter that 1 wrote unto her. For 
afterwards, because I had often heard that many 
right worshipful folk, as well men as women, used 
to have much communication with her; and many 
folk are by nature inquisitive and curious, whereby 
they fall sometime into such talking, as better were 
to forbear; of which thing I nothing thought while 
I talked with her out of charity, therefore I wrote 
her a letter thereof; which since ii may be, perad- 
venture, that she brake or lost, I shall insert the 
very copy thereof in this present letter. 
[The following were the very words.] 
" Good madam, and my right dearly beloved sister 
in our Lord God, after most hearty commendation, 
I shall beseech you to take my good mind in good 
worth, and pardon me, that I am so homely as of 
myself, unrequired, and also without necessity, to 
give counsel to you, of whom for the good inspira- 
tions and great revelations that it liketh Almighty 
God of his goodness to give and show, as many 
wise, well-learned, and very virtuous folk testify, 
I myself have need, for the comfort of my soul, to 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 243 

require and ask advice. For surely, good madam, 
since it pleaseth God sometimes to suffer such as 
are far under and of little estimation, to give yet 
fruitful advertisement to such other as are in the 
light of the spirit so far above them, that there 
M^ere betvi^een them no comparison, (as he suffered 
his high prophet Moses to be in some things advised 
and counselled by Jethro,) I cannot, for the love 
that in our Lord I bear you, refrain to put you in 
remembrance of one thing, which, in my poor mind, 
I think highly necessary to be by your v^^isdom con- 
sidered, referring the end and the order thereof, to 
God and his Holy Spirit to direct you. Good 
madam, I doubt not but that you remember, that, in 
the beginning of my communication with you, I 
showed you, that 1 neither was, nor would be, 
curious of any knowledge of other men's matters, 
and least of all of any matter of princes, or of the 
realm, in case it so were, that God had, as to many 
good folks beforetime he hath, any time revealed 
unto you such things, I said unto your ladyship, 
that I was not only not desirous to hear of, but also 
would not hear of. Now, madam, I consider well 
that many folk desire to speak with you, which are 
not all peradventure of my mind in this point; but 
some hap to be curious and inquisitive of things 
that little pertain unto their parts; and some might 
peradventure hap to talk of such things as might 
peradventure after turn to much harm; as I think 
you have heard how the late Duke of Buckingham, 
moved with the fame of one that was reported for 
a holy monk, and had such talking with him, as 
after was a great part of his destruction, and dis- 
heriting of his blood, and great slander and infamy 
of religion. It sufficeth me, good madam, to put 
you in remembrance of such things, as I nothing 
doubt your wisdom, and the Spirit of God shall 
keep you from talking with any person, specially 
with high persons, of any such manner of things as 
pertain to princes' affairs, or the state of the realm, 
but only to commune and talk with any person, high 



244 sm THOMAS more, 

and low, of such manner of things as may to the 
soul be profitable for you to show, and for them to 
know. And thus, my good lady, and dearly beloved 
sister in our Lord, 1 make an end of this my need- 
less advertisement unto you, whom the blessed 
Trinity preserve and increase in grace, and put in 
your mind to recommend me and mine unto Him in 
your devout prayers. At Chelsea, this Tuesday, 
by the hand of your hearty loving Brother and 
Beadsman,* 

"THOMAS MORE, Kxnight." 

At the receipt of this letter, she answered my 
servant, that she heartily thanked me. Soon after 
this there came to mine house the prior of the 
charter-house at Shene, and one brother Williams 
with him, who nothing talked to me but of her, 
and of the great joy that they took in her virtue; 
but of any of her revelations ihey had no commu- 
nication. But at another time brother Williams 
came to me, and told me a long tale of her being at 
the house of a knight in Kent, that was sore troubled 
with temptations to destroy himself; and none other 
thing we talked of, nor should have done of likeli- 
hood, though we had tarried together much longer, 
he took so great pleasure, good man, to tell the 
tale, with all the circumstances at length. When 
I came again another time to Sion, on a day in 
which there was a profession, some of the fathers 
asked me how I liked the nun] And I answered, 
that, in good faith, I liked her very well in her 
talking; howbeit, quoth I, she is never the nearer 
tried by that, for I assure you, she were likely to 
be very bad, if she seemed good, ere I should 
think her other, till she happened to be proved 
naught; and in good faith, that is my manner indeed, 

* Beadsman — One who prays lor another. 

Yes, in my depth of love, I'll be 
One thai will drop his beads for thee. 

Herrick (1636). 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 245 

except J were set to search and examine the truth, 
upon likelihood of some cloaked evil; for in that 
case, although I nothing suspected the person my- 
self, yet no less than if I suspected him sore, I 
would, as far as my wit would serve me, search to 
find out the truth, as yourself hath done very pru- 
dently in this matter; v/herein you have done, in 
my mind, to your great laud and praise, a very 
meritorious deed, in bringing forth to light such 
d,etestable hypocrisy, whereby every other wretch 
may take warning, and be feared to set forth their 
own devilish dissembled falsehood, under the man- 
ner and color of the wonderful work of God; for 
verily, this woman so handled herself, with help of 
that evil spirit that inspired her, that after her own 
confession declared at St. Paul's Cross, when I 
sent word by my servant unto the Prior of the Char- 
terhouse, that she was undoubtedly proved a false 
deceiving hypocrite; the good man had had so good 
opinion of her so long, that he could at the first 
scantly believe me therein. Howbeit it was not he 
alone that thought her so very good, but many 
another right good man besides, as little marvel 
was upon so good report, till she was proved 
naught. 

I remember m^e further, that, in communication 
between Father Rich and me, I counselled him, 
that in such strange things as concerned such folk 
as had come unto her, to whom, as she said, she 
had told the causes of their coming, ere themselves 
spake thereof; and such good fruit as they said that 
many men had received by her prayer, he, and 
such other as so reported it, and thought that the 
knowledge thereof should much pertain to the glory 
of God, should first cause the things to be well and 
sure examined by the ordinaries, and such as had 
authority thereunto; so that it might be surely 
known whether the things were true or not, and 
that there were no letters intermingled among them, 
or else the letters might after hap to aweigh the 
•credence of these things that were true. And when 
" 21 *" 



246 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

he told me the tale of Mary Magdalen, 1 said unto 
him; Father Rich, that she is a g-ood virtuous 
woman, in good faith, I hear so many good folk so 
report, that I verily think it true; and think it well 
likely that God worketh some good and great things 
by her. But yet, as you wot well, these strange 
tales are no part of our creed; and therefore before 
you see them surely proved, you shall have my poor 
counsel, not to wed yourself so far forth to the cre- 
dence of them, as to report them very surely for 
true, lest that if it should hap that they were after- 
wards proved false, it might diminish your estima- 
tion in your preaching, whereof might grow great 
loss. To this he thanked me for my counsel, but 
how he used it after that, I cannot tell. 

Thus have I, good Mr. Crumwell, fully declared 
to you, as far as myself can call to remembrance, 
all that ever I have done or said in this matter, 
wherein I am sure that never one of them all shall 
tell you any further thing of effect; for if any of 
them, or any man else, report of rae, as I trust 
verily no man will, and I wot well truly no man 
can, any word or deed by me spoken or done, touch- 
ing any breach of my legal truth and duty toward 
my most redoubted sovereign and natural liege 
lord, Lwill come to mine answer, and make it good 
in such wise as becometh a poor true man to do; 
that whosoever any such thing shall say, shall 
therein say untrue: for I neither have in this matter 
done evil, nor said evil, nor so much as any evil 
thing thought, but only have been glad, and rejoiced 
at them that w^ere reported for good; which condi- 
tion I shall nevertheless keep toward all other good 
folk, despite the false cloaked hypocrisy of any of 
these, no more than I shall esteem Judas the true 
apostle, for Judas the false traitor. 

But so purpose 1 to bear myself in every man's 
company, while I live, that neither good man nor 
bad, neither monk, friar, nor nun, nor other man or 
woman in this world, shall make me digress from 
my truth and faith, either towards God, or towards 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 247 

luy natural prince, by the grace of Almighty God; 
and as you therein find me true, so I heartily there- 
in pray you to continue toward me your favor 
and good-will, as you shall be sure of my poor 
daily prayer; for other pleasure can I not do you. 
And thus the blessed Trinity, both bodily and 
ghostly, long preserve and prosper you. 

I pray you pardon me, that 1 write not unto you 
of mine own hand, for verily I am compelled to for- 
bear writing for a while, by reason of this disease 
of mine, whereof the chief occasion is grown, as it 
is thought, by the stooping and leaning on my 
breast, that I have used in writing. And thus, 
eftsoons, I beseech our Lord long to preserve you. 

Sir Thomas More to the same. 
Right WORSHIPFUL — After right hearty recommen- 
dations, so it is that I am informed, that there is a 
bill put in against me into the higher house before the 
lords, concerning my communication with the nun 
of Canterbury and my writing unto her: whereof I 
not a little marvel, the truth of the matter being such 
as God and I know it is, and as I have plainly de- 
clared unto you by my former letters, wherein 1 found 
you then so good, that I am now bold eftsoons upon 
your goodness to desire you to show me the favor, 
that I might the rather by your good means, have a 
copy of the bill. Which seen, if I find any untrue 
surmise therein, as of likelihood there is, Irnay 
make mine humble suit unto the king's good grace, 
and declare the truth, either to his grace, or, by his 
grace's commandment, wheresoever the matter shall 
require. I am so sure of my truth toward his grace, 
that 1 cannot mistrust his grace's favor towards me, 
upon the truth known, nor the judgment of any 
honest man. Nor ever shall their loss in this ■ 
matter grieve me, being myself so innocent as God 
and 1 know me, whatsoever should happen me ' 
therein, by the grace of Almighty God, who bodil}'' 
and ghostly preserve you. At Chelsea, this present 
Saturday, by the hand of heartily all your own, 
THOMAS MORE, Knight. 



248 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

Sir Thomas More to the King. 
May it like your Highness to call to your gracious 
remembrance, that at such time as of the great weighty 
office of your chancellor (with which so far above my 
merits or qualities, your highness had, of your incom- 
parable goodness, honored and exalted me) ye were 
so good and gracious unto me, as at my poor hum- 
ble suit to discharge and disburden me, giving me 
licence, with your gracious favor, to bestow the 
residue of my life to come about the provision for 
my soul in the service ol God, and to be your beads- 
man and pray for you. It pleased your highness 
further to say unto me, that, for the service which 
I before had done you, (which it then liked your 
goodness far above my deserving to commend) that 
in any suit that I should after have to your grace, 
that either should concern mine honor, (that word 
it liked your highness to use unto me,) or that should 
pertain unto my profit, I should find your highness 
good and gracious lord unto me. So is it now, 
gracious sovereign, that worldly honor is the thing 
whereof 1 have resigned both the possession and 
the desire, in the resignation of your most honorable 
office. And for worldly profit, I trust experience 
proveth, and daily more and more shall prove, that I 
never was very greedy thereof. But now is my most 
humble suit unto your excellent highness, to be- 
seech the same somewhat to tender my poor honesty: 
howbeit principally, that, of your accustomed good- 
ness, no sinister information move your noble grace 
to have any more distrust of my truth and devotion 
toward you, than I have or shall during my life 
give cause. For in this matter of the nun of Can- 
terbury, I have unto your trusty counsellor, master 
Thomas Crumwell, by my writing as plainly de- 
clared the truth, as I possibly can. Which my 
declaration, of his duty toward your grace, and his 
goodness towards me, he hath, I understand, declared 
unto your grace. In any part of all which my deal- 
ing, whether any other man may peradventure put 
any doubt or move any scruple or suspicion, that 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 249 

can I neither tell, nor lieth in my hand to let [hin- 
der.] But unto myself, it is not possible any part 
of my said demeanor to seem evil, the very clear- 
ness of mine own conscience knowing- in all the 
matter m.y mind and intent so good. Wherefore, 
most gracious sovereign, 1 neither will, nor yet can 
it well become me, with your highness to reason 
or argue the matter, but in my most humble manner 
prostrate at your gracious feet, I only beseech your 
grace, with your own high prudence and your accus- 
tomed goodness, to consider and weigh the matter. 
And if that in your so doing, your own virtuous 
mind shall give you, that, notwithstanding the mani- 
fold and excellent goodness that your gracious 
highness hath by so many manner of ways used unto 
me, I were a wretch of such a monstrous ingratitude, 
as could with any of them all, or any other person 
living, digress from my bounden duty of allegiance 
toward your good grace; then desire I no further 
favor at your gracious hand, than the loss of all 
that ever I may lose, goods, lands, liberty, and 
finally my life withal; whereof the keeping of any 
part unto myself, could never do me penny-worth 
of pleasure; but only should my comfort be, that 
after my short life, and your long, (which, with 
continual prosperity, to God's pleasure our Lord of 
his mercy send you,) I should once meet your grace 
again in heaven, and there be merry with you: where 
among mine other pleasures this should yet be one, 
that your grace should surely see there then, that 
howsoever you take me, I am your true beadsman 
now, and ever have been, and will be till I die, 
howsoever your pleasure be to do by me. Howbeit, 
if in the considering of my cause, your high wisdom, 
and gracious goodness, perceive (as I verily trust 
in God you shall,) that I none otherwise have 
demeaned myself, than well may stand with my 
bounden duty of faithfulness toward your royal 
majesty, then, in my most humble wise, I beseech 
your most noble grace, that the knowledge of your 
true gracious persuasion in that behalf, may relieve 



250 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

the torment of my present heaviness conceived of 
the dread and fear (by that I hear such a grievous 
bill put by your learned counsel into your high 
court of parliament against rae,) lest your grace 
might, by some sinister information be moved any 
thing to think the contrary. Which if your high- 
ness do not, as I trust in God and your great good- 
ness (the matter by yonr own high prudence ex- 
amined and considered,) ye will not; then in my 
most humble manner, I beseech your highness fur- 
ther, (albeit that in respect of my form.er request 
this other thing is very slight,) yet since your high- 
ness hath heretofore of your mere abundant good- 
ness heaped and accumulated upon me (though I 
was thereto far unworthy) from time to time both 
worship and great honor too. Since I now have left 
all such things, and nothing seek or desire but the 
life to come, and pray for your grace the while, it 
may like your highness, of your accustomed benig- 
nity, somewhat to tender my poor honesty, and 
never suffer (by the means of such a bill put forth 
against me) any man to take occasion hereafter 
against the truth to slander me: which would yet, 
by the peril of their own souls, do themselves more 
hurt than me. This shall, I trust, settle my heart 
with your gracious favor, to depend upon the com- 
fort of the truth and hope of heaven, and not upon 
the fallible opinion, or for certain words spoken by 
light and changeable people. And thus most dreaded 
and most dear sovereign Lord, I beseech the bless- 
ed Trinity, to preserve your most noble grace both 
body and soul, and all that are your well-willers, 
and amend all the contrary: among whom, if ever 
I be or ever have been one, then pray I God that he 
may, with my open shame and destruction, declare 
it." 

But though Sir Thomas had satisfactorily cleared 
his conduct in reference to the nun, other troubles 
were in store for him. He, as well as fellow-suf- 
ferer, the virtuous Fisher, might have said, in the 
language of Shakspeare: 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 251 



If Pm traduc'd by tongues, wliich neilhar know 

My faculties, nor person, yet will he 
Thf chroniclers of my doiii!.'s let me say: 
"'Tis but the fute of place, an'l the rough brake 
That virtue must go through!" Uennj VIII. 



The authority of Fisher and More had great 
weight not only in England, but also on the conti- 
nent, and the warmest opponents of the divorce 
were accustomed to boast, that they had no fear of 
going wrong so long as they followed the opinions 
of these two celebrated men. The moment was 
now come to try the experiment whether the dan- 
ger to which they had been exposed, had subdued 
their spirit. Fisher, as we have already seen, was 
in the Tower, and, although an infirm old man, was 
treated in the first instance with extreme rigor, and 
afterwards w^ith brutal neglect. When the good 
old man, now in nearly his eightieth year, was 
visited by some bishops who were his friends, 
and earnestly reasoned with upon the subject, 
he said that he had no disposition to appear sin- 
gular, and would make every concession which 
his conscience would allow. He declared him- 
self ready to swear to the Succession, and pre- 
pared never to dispute about the marriage with 
Catharine; but that he could never declare his con- 
viction that it was not against the law of God. 
This, however, would not satisfy the king; he was 
attainted in Parliament, deprived of his bishopric, and 
recommitted to the Tower. The cruel neglect which 
the venerable prelate experienced, and the manner 
in v/hich Henry treated the victims of his resent- 
ment, may be seen from the following pathetic pas- 
sage in a letter which he addressed to Crumwell: — 
'•Furthermore, I beseech you, be good master to 
me in my necessity; for I have neither shirt, nor 
suit, nor any other clothes that are necessary for 
me to wear, but that be ragged and rent too shame- 
fully; notwithstanding, I might easily suffer that, if 
they would keep my body warm. And my diet, 



253 SIR THOMAS MOREJ, 

also, God knoweth how slender it is at many times. 
And, now, in mine ag-e, my stomach may not 
away but with a few kinds of meats; which, if I 
want, I decay forthwith, and fall into crazes and 
diseases of my body, and cannot keep myself in 
health. And also I beseech you, that it may please 
you, by your high wisdom, to move the King's 
Highness to take me into his gracious favor again, 
and to restore me to my liberty out of this cold and 
painful imprisonment, whereby ye shall bind me 
to be your poor beadsman for ever unto Almighty 
God, who ever have you in his protection and cus- 
tody. 

Other twain things I must desire from you. The 
one is, that it may please you I may take some 
priest with me into the Tower, to hear my confession 
ag-ainst this holy time; the other is, that I may bor- 
row some books to say my devotions more effectu- 
ally these holy days, for the comfort of my soul. 
This 1 beseech you to grant me of your charity. 
And thus our Lord God send you a merry Christ- 
mas, and so comfortable to your heart's desire. At 
the Tovi'er, the 22d of December, by your poor 
beadsman ROCHESTER. 

That this very touching letter had any effect 
in mitigating the rigor of his imprisonment, we 
have no proof. He continued a year after in the 
Tower; and it appeared probable, considering his 
advanced age, and the treatment he received, that 
death would in a little time put a period to his suf- 
ferings, when a well-meant, but unseasonable honor 
paid him by Pope Paul HI., in creatmghim a Car- 
dinal, roused the half sleeping lion and drew down 
his destructive fury upon the head of the devoted 
bishop. No sooner had the intelligence of this 
promotion reached the King, than he gave the 
strictest orders that the bearer of these honors 
should be prohibited from entering his dominions, 
and immediately despatched Secretary Crumwell to 
th® Tower to examine the poor old man, who, 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 253 

amidst the squalid wretchedness and privations of 
his prison-house, was wholly unconscious of the 
honors intended him. After some introductory con- 
versation, Crumwell said to him, " My Lord of 
Rochester, what would you say if the Pope should 
send you a Cardinal's hat; would you accept it]" — 
" Sir," replied the bishop, "I know myself to be 
so far unworthy of any such dignity, that I think of 
nothing less. But, if any such thing should hap- 
pen, assure yourself I should improve that favor to 
the best advantage I could, in assisting the Holy 
Catholic Church of Christ; and, in that respect, I 
would receive it upon my knees." This was all 
the inquisitor wanted, and like a very zealous and 
faithful messenger, he hastened to report it to the 
King, the words of the reply, in all probability, 
losing nothing b}'" the way. Henry could not re- 
straia his passion; but as he had grown very large 
and unwieldy, words could not at once find utter- 
ance. After an effort, he exclaimed: " Ah ha! and 
so the old man is yet so lusty] Well, let the Pope 
make him a Cardinal when he will. Mother of 
God! Paul may send him the hat, but I will take 
care that he shall have never a head to wear it on."* 
In a despatch to the King, dated .Iiine 12, is the 
following. "Finally, the said Machon writeth 
thai he, expostulating with the Bishop of Rome for 
that he had made the Bishop of Rochester a Cardi- 
nal, knowing him to be a person whom your Grace 
favored not, and M'ho had most worthily deserved 
your Grace's high indignation, the &aid Bishop of 



* " With this scurvy jest, and with suoli brutal defiance, did 
Henry bfgin his new career of sanguiiiary tyrani.y.'— /Sir J. 
J^Iackintosh. 

{Sasl as was the king's jest, ii seems to have been thought a 
capital thing at the time, fur both the historians of tliis period 
have tried to improve it. " 'I'he Pope." says old Hall, "did 
send the > ardinaTs hat as far as Calais, but the head i^ should 
have fitted, was as high as London brjdge, ere ever the iiat could 
come." 

Holinsiiead attempts a new turn: 

" i'he hat came as far as ( alais, but the head was off before 
the hat was on: so that they met not." 
22 



254 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

Rome answered, that he had not done it for any 
displeasure unto your Highness, but only for that 
he thoug-ht him, for his singular learning and good 
living, to be a person most meet to be present in the 
General Council, there to give his aid and assist- 
ance in such doubts as might arise." 

From this moment, Fisher's fate vv^as sealed; and 
the same base and cruel means was employed to 
get him into Henry's power, which was afterwards 
practised with the same success upon More him- 
self. Rich, the solicitor-general, a man 

" damned to everlasting fame," 

was sent to the unsuspecting Bishop with a mes- 
sage from the king. He informed him, that his 
majesty, for the better satisfaction of his own con- 
science, had sent him, in this secret manner, to 
know his opinion of the Supremacy; and, in order 
the more to encourage him to make a disclosure of 
his mind. Rich added, that the king assured him, 
on his honor, that, whatever he should say to him, 
he should abide no danger or peril for it, nor should 
any advantage be taken of the opinions thus confi- 
dentially communicated. Trusting to this promise 
and unsuspecting of any snare, Fisher inconsider- 
ately declared — " That as to the business of the Su- 
premacy, he must needs repeat to His Majesty, 
what he had often told him before, and would so 
tell him were he to die that very hour, that it was 
utterly unlawful, and that the king should beware 
of taking such title upon him, as he valued his own 
soul, and the good of his posterity." For these 
words, Fisher w^as brought to trial, found guilty on 
the evidence of Rich, and condemned to be behead- 
ed. He suffered with the serenity and heroism that 
might be expected from his character. Being in- 
formed at five o'clock in the morning of the day of 
his execution, that it was his last, he received the in- 
telligence with an unchanged countenance, and lay- 
ing himself on his pallet, slept soundly for two hours. 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 255 

He then rose and dressed himself with unusual care, 
which being- remarked by his attendant, who hinted 
that he would soon have to doff this better suit — 
" What of that, John," said he, "■ dost thou not 
know that this is my marriag-e-day, and that it be- 
hooves me on so joyful an occasion, to go appareled 
in my best]" The veneration which Henry once bore 
to this admirable man, the personal friend of his fa- 
ther, of whose counsellors he was the last survivor, 
and the prelate to whose care his pious mother, on 
her death bed, had recommended the inexperience of 
his youth, seems now to have been changed into 
brute and unrelenting hatred. Not content with the 
execution of the venerable prelate, he ordered the 
dead body to be stripped, and after being exposed 
for some hours to the gaze of the populace, to be 
thrown into the grave without coffin or shroud. 

Erasmus thus sums up the character of Fisher — 
" I know of none to compare to him for integrity of 
life, for extent of learning, and for greatness of 
soul." 

Storer has some beautiful verses to his memory, 
which terminate thus: 

One Patriarch-like, and grave in all designs; 
Who finished well his long, long pilgrimage: 
^ man made old to teach the worth of age! 

March 30. — This being the closing day of the 
parliamentary session of 1534, the chancellor Aud- 
ley, when the commons were at the bar of the house 
of lords, but when they could neither deliberate, 
nor assent, read the king's letters patent, containing 
the form of an oath relative to the succession and 
other matters, and appointing the archbishop of 
Canterbury, the chancellor, and the Dukes of Nor- 
folk and Suffolk, to be commissioners for adminis- 
tering it. No time was lost in putting to the test 
the firmness of the ex-chancellor. On the 13th of 
April, More was summoned to appear before the 
commissioners at Lambeth, to take an oath to a law, 
which one of the ablest lawyers of our age, pro- 



256 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

nounces to be a monstrous and tyrannical edict, mis- 
called a law."* The fatal summons found him 
engaged in his studies in his qu,iet retreat at Chel- 
sea: but the blow did not reach him unprepared. 
Having, as Cresacre informs us, a jiresentment of 
what was that day to take place, he had risen at an 
earlier hour than usual, and repaired to Chelsea 
church, where he was confessed, and, at an early 
mass, devoutly received the blessed sacrament; as 
he was always accustomed to do, when any matter 
of importance was to be undertaken. 

The reader who knows not " of what spirit those 
times were," will be astonished to learn, that the 
same pursuivants who came to apprehend the 
knight, were also furnished with a warrant for 
searching his premises, it being thought that he was 
not really so poor as he pretended to be. Unmoved 
by the indignity thus offered him, in violating his 
domestic sanctuary. More lost nothing of his habit- 
ual gaiety. While the officers were upon the search, 
he told his daughter Margaret that those who thus 
doubted the truth of his poverty and were determin- 
ed to ascertain the fact, would have nothing for their 
pains; "unless," added he, glancing his eye roguish- 
ly towards his wife — "unless they should happen 
to find Alice's gay girdle, and her gold beads." 

More now prepared to attend the summons, and 
begged his son-in-law Roper to accompany him. 

It had been his custom to start at an early hour 
for Westminster, to attend to his official duties; 
and regularly as the morning came, did his attentive 
wife and affectionate children accompany the fond 
father to the water side, where he took his barge. 
On the way, he was sure to have some little piece of 
well-timed advice for one, and his ready jest for 
another; and on leaving them for the day, he kissed 
them all, and waved his hand in farewell as the 
boat parted and he lost sight. of them among the 
trees. On this occasion, they accompanied him as 

* Sir James Mackintosh, Hist. Eiig. Vol. II. p 152. 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 257 

usual, but no merry jest enlivened the walk. The 
future was present before him, and the father's heart 
was full. He felt this moment of unusual weakness, 
and mistrusted himself. It was not for him at such a 
time to add to the anjruish of his family. Therefore, 
when they came to the garden-gate that led to the 
bank of the Thames, he stopped, kissed them all 
with more than usual fondness, and begged them to 
return to the house and pray for him. Then, carefully 
closing the wicket after him, he went into the boat 
with Roper and four of his servants. He turned 
not his eyes once back towards the garden, to wave 
his wonted farewell; and was spared the additional 
pang of beholding his favorite Margaret, who had 
lingered behind the rest, unable to tear herself from 
the spot. His countenance, says his son-in-law, 
bespoke a heavy heart, and for some time he sat 
wrapped in silent thought. It was evident that the 
internal conflict was strong; but, at last, " his mind 
being lightened and relieved by those high princi- 
ples to which, with him, every low consideration 
yielded," he pressed Roper's arm, and said to him 
in a significant whisper— " Son Roper, I thank our 
Lord the field is won!" What he meant thereby, 
continues Roper, I knew not at the time; but being 
loth to appear ignorant, I answered; " Sir, I am 
very glad thereof." But, as I conjectured, it was 
the love he had to God, which wrought in him so 
effectually, as to conquer all his animal affections. 

On appearing before the commissioners and after 
having read the statute and the form of the oath, he 
declared his readiness to swear that he would main- 
tain and defend the order of succession to the 
crown as established by parliament. He disclaimed 
all censure of those who had imposed, or those 
who had taken the oath, but declared it to be im- 
possible that he should swear to the whole contents 
of it, without offending against his own conscience; 
adding, that if they doubted whether his refusal pro- 
ceeded from pure scruple of conscience or from his 
own phantasies, he was willing to satisfy their 
22*= 



258 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

doubts by oath. The commissioners urged that he 
was the first who refused it; they showed him the 
subscriptions of all the lords and commoners who 
had sworn; they held out the king's sure displeasure 
at the single recusant. When he was called on a 
second time, they charged him with obstinacy for 
not mentioning any special part of the oath which 
wounded his conscience.* 

He answered, that if he were to open his reasons 
for refusal farther, he should exasperate the king 
still more. He offered, however, to assign his 
reasons, if the lords would procure his highness's 
gracious assurance, that the avowal of the grounds 
of his defence should not be considered as otiensive 
to the king, nor prove dangerous to himself. The 
commissioners answered that such assurances would 
be lio defence against a legal charge. He offered, 
however, to trust himself to the king's honor. Cran- 
mer took some advantage of M ore's candor, urging 
that, as he had disclaimed all blame of those who 
had sworn, it was evident that he thought it only 
doubtful whether the oath was unlawful; and desired 
him to consider whether the obligation to obey the 
king was not absolutely certain. He was struck 
with the subtility of this reasoning, which took him 
by surprise, but not convinced of its solidity. Not- 
withstanding his surprise, he seems to have almost 
touched the true answer, that, as the oath contained 
a profession of opinion, such, for examples, as the 
lawfulness of the king's marriage, on which men 
might differ, it might be declined by some and taken 
by others with equal honesty. Crumwell, whom 
More believed to favor him, loudly swore that he 
would rather see his only son had lost his head than 
that More had thus refused the oath. Crumwell 



* speaking of the oath he compared it to a two-pd2:efl 
s\v(/rd: if he took it, his soul would suffer a wouud; i( he refus- 
ed it, his body. 

Mere's spirit, to use a figure of Lord Bacon's, was the " very 
kneeiim.her of honesty, knit in the natural fibre, and by no 
arts to be suppled or relaxed." 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 359 

bore the answer to the king", and chancellor Audley 
distinctly enjoined hira to state very clearly More's 
willingness to swear to the succession. " Surely," 
said More, ''as to swearing to the succession, I see 
no peril." Crumweli was not a good man, but the 
gentle virtue of More subdued even the bad. He 
never more returned to his house, being committed 
to the custody of the abbot of Westminster,* in 
which he continued four days: and at the end of that 
time he was conveyed to the Tower, on Friday the 
17th of April, 1534. 

It was very shortly after his commitment to the 
Tower, that he wrote the following letter to his 
darling daughter Margaret, which contains a faith- 
ful and animated sketch of what passed before the 
council. It has no superscription, and is unsigned, 
a matter of prudent precaution, no doubt, in the 
situation in which he was placed. 

" When I was before the I -ords at Lambeth, I was 
the first that was called in, alDeit that master Doc- 
tor, the vicar of Croydon, [Hugh Latymer] was 
come before me, and diverse others. After the cause 
of my sending for declared unto me, (whereof T 
somewhat marvelled in my mind, considering that 
they sent for no more temporal men but me,) I desir- 
ed the sight of the oath, which they shewed me 
under the great seal. Then desired 1 the sight of 
the act of the succession, which was delivered me 
in a printed roll. After which read secretly by my- 
self, and the other considered with the act, I shew- 
ed unto them, that my purpose was not to put any 
fault either in the act or any man that made it, or in 
the oath of any man that sware it, nor to condemn 
the conscience of any other man. But as for myself, 
in good faith, my conscience so moved me in the 
matter, that though I would not deny to swear to 
the succession, 5i'et unto that oath that there was 
offered me, I could not swear without the jeopardino- 

* William Bpnson was appointed ;il)b;)t in iSlO. Flo surren- 
dered his abbey to Henry, by whom lie was inado Dean, and 
died in 154:-V 



260 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

of my soul to perpetual damnation. And if they 
doubted whether I did refuse the oath only for the 
grudge of my conscience, or for any other fantacy, I 
was ready therein to satisfy them by my oath; which 
if they trusted not, what should they be better to 
give me any oath. And if I trusted that I would 
therein swear true, then trusted I that, of their 
goodness, they would not move me to swear the 
oath that they offered me, perceiving that to swear 
it was against my own conscience. Unto this my 
lord chancellor said, that they were all very sorry to 
hear me say thus, and see me thus refuse the oath. 
And they all said, that, on their faith, I was the very 
first that ever refused it, which would cause the 
king's highness to conceive great suspicion of me 
and great indignation toward me. And therewith 
they showed me the roll, and let me see the names 
of the lords and commoners who had sworn and 
subscribed their names already. Which notwith- 
standing when they saw that I refused to swear the 
same myself, not blaming any other man that had 
sworn, I was in conclusion commanded to go down 
into the garden. And thereupon I tarried in the old 
burned chamber that looketh into the garden, and 
would not go down because of the heat. 

In that time saw I master Doctor Latymer come 
into the garden, and there walked he with diverse 
other doctors and chaplains of my lord of Canterbury. 
And very merry I saw him, for he laughed, and took 
one or two about the neck so handsomely, that if 
they had been women, I would have weened he 
had been waxed wanton. After that came mas- 
ter Doctor Wilson forth from the lords, and was 
with two gentlemen brought by me, and gentlemanly 
sent straight into the Tower. W hat time my lord of 
Rochester was called in before them, that 1 cannot 
tell; but at night I heard he had been before them, 
but where he had remained that night, and so forth, 
.till he was sent hither, I never heard. I heard also 
that Master Vicar of Croydon, and all the remnant of 
the priests of London that were sent for, were swornr 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. -261 

aod that they had such favor at the council's hand, 
that they were not lingered, nor made to dance any 
long attendance to their trouble and cost, as suitors 
were sometimes wont to be, but were sped apace to 
their great comfort; so far forth, that master Vicar of 
Croydon, either for gladness or for dryness, or else 
that it might be seen, Quod ilk notus erat poniiJici\ 
[that he was known to the prelate,] went to my 
lord's buttery *bar, and called for drink, and drank 
valde familiariter. 

When they had played their pageant^ and were 
gone out of the place, then was I called in again. 
And then was it declared unto me, that a number 
had sworn (even since I went aside) gladly without 
any sticking. Wherein I laid no blame to any man, 
but for my ownself answered as before. Now as 
well before as then, they somewhat laid unto me for 
obstinacy, that, whereas before and since I refused to 
swear, I would not declare any special part of that 
oath that grudged my conscience, and open the 
cause wherefor. For thereunto I had said unto 
them, that I feared lest the king's highness would, 
as they said, take displeasure enough towards me 
for the only refusal of the oath. And that if I should 
open and disclose the causes why, I should there- 
with but further exasperate his highness, which I 
would in no wise do, but rather would I abide all 
the danger and harm that might come towards me, 
than give his highness any occasion of further dis- 
pleasure, than the offering of the oath unto me of 
pure necessity constrained me. Howbeit when they 
diverse times imputed this to me for stubbornness 
and obstinacy, that I would neither swear the oath, 
nor yet declare the causes why, I declared thus far 
to them, that rather than I would be accounted 
for obstinate, I would upon the king's gracious 
license, or rather his such commandment had, as 
might be my sufficient warrant that my declaration 
should not offend his highness, nor put me in the 
danger of any of his statutes, I would be content to 
declare the causes in writing, and over that to 
give an oath in the beginning, that, if I might find 



262 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

those causes by any man in such wise answered, as 
I might think mine own conscience satisfied, I 
would, after that, with all mine heart swear the prin- 
cipal oath too. To this J. was answered, that, though 
the king should give me license under his letters 
patent, yet would it not serve against the statute. 
Whereto I said, that yet if I had them, I would 
stand unto the trust of his honor at my peril for 
the remnant. But thinketh me now, that if I may 
not declare the causes without peril, then to leave 
them undeclared is no obstinacy. My lord of Can- 
terbury taking hold upon what I said, that I con- 
demned not the consciences of them that swore, said 
unto me: That it appeared well, that I did not take 
it for a very sure thing and a certain that I might 
not lawfully swear it, but rather as a thing uncertain 
and doubtful. But then (said my lord) you know 
for a certainty and a thing without doubt, that you 
be bounden to obey your sovereign lord the king. 
And therefore are ye bounden to leave off the doubt 
of your unsure conscience in refusing the oath, and 
take the sure way in obeying of your prince and 
swear it. 

Now albeit, that in mine own mind I thought 
myself not concluded, yet this argument seemed 
to me suddenly so subtle, and namely with such 
authority coming out of so noble a prelate's mouth, 
that 1 could again answer nothing thereto, but only 
that I thought myself I might not well do so, be- 
cause that in my conscience this was one of the ca- 
ses, in which I was bounden that I should not obey 
my prince, since, whatsoever other folks thought 
in the matter (whose conscience or learning I would 
not condemn nor take upon me to judge), yet in my 
conscience, the truth seemed on the other side; 
wherein 1 had informed my conscience neither 
suddenly nor slightly, but by long leisure and dili- 
gent search for the matter. And of truth, if that 
reason may conclude, then have we a ready way to 
avoid all perplexities. For in whatsoever matter 
the doctors stand in great doubt, the king's com- 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 263 

mandment given upon whither side he list, solveth 
all the doubts. Then said my lord of Westminster 
to me, that howsoever the matter seemed unto mine 
own mind, I had cause to fear that mind own mind 
was erroneous, when I see the great council of the 
realm determine of my mind the contrary, and that 
therefore I ought to change my conscience. To that 
I answered, that if there were no more but myself 
upon my side, and the whole parliament upon the 
other, I would be sore afraid to lean to mine own 
mind only against so many. But on the other side, 
if it so be that in some things for which I refuse 
the oath, I have, as 1 think I have, upon my part as 
great a council and a greater too, I am not then 
bounden to change my conscience, and conform it to 
the council of one realm, against the general coun- 
cil of Christendom. Upon this master Secretary, as 
he that tenderly favoreth me, said and swore a great 
oath, that he had rather that his own only son 
(which is of truth a goodly young gentleman, and 
shall I trust come to much worship) had lost his 
head, than that I should thus have refused the oath. 
Forsurely the king's highness would now conceive a 
great suspicion against me, and think that the matter 
of the nun of Canterbury was all contrived by my 
drift. To which I said, that the contrary was true 
and well known. And whatsoever should mishap 
me, it lay not in my power to help it without the 
peril of my soul. Then did my lord chancellor re- 
peat before me my refusal unto master secretary, as 
to him that was going unto the king's grace. And 
in the rehearsing, his lordship repeated again that 
I denied not but was content to swear unto the suc- 
cession. Whereunto I said, that as for that point I 
would be content, so that 1 might see my oath in 
that point so framed, in such a manner as might 
stand with my conscience. Then said my lord: 
Marry! master secretary mark that too; that he will 
not swear that neither, but under some certain man- 
ner. — Verily, no, my lord quoth I, but that I will 
see it made in such wise first, as 1 shall myself see, 



§64 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

that I shall neither be forsworn, nor swear ag-ainst 
my conscience. Surely as to swear to the succes- 
sion I see no peril. But I thought and think it rea- 
son that to mine own oath I look well myself, and 
be of counsel also in the fashion, and never intended 
to swear for a peice, and set my hand to the whole 
oath. Howbeit. so help me God, as touching- the 
whole oath, I never withdrew any man from it, nor 
ever advised any to refuse it, nor ever put nor will 
put any scruple in any man's head, but leave every 
one to his own conscience. And methinketh, in 
good faith, that so were it g-ood reason that every 
man should leave me to mine." 

Durinor the time that Sir Thomas remained in the 
custody of the abbot of Westminster, the king con- 
sulted w^ith his council as to the best measures to be 
taken with him. It is to the credit of Cranmer that, 
at this critical moment, he interposed in behalf of Sir 
Thomas and Bishop Fisher. He wrote the following- 
letter to Crumwell, which, as being an unequivocal 
testimony of the estimation in which More and his 
opinions were held, demands a place here. 

Archbishop Cranmer to Secretary Crumwell. 

Right worshipful Mr. Crumwell: — After most 
hearty commendations, &c., I doubt not but that you 
do right well remember, that my lord of Rochester 
and Mr. More were content to be sworn to the act of 
the kmg's succession, but not to the preamble of the 
same. What was the cause of their refusal thereof 
I am uncertain, and they would by no means ex- 
press the same. Nevertheless, it must needs be, 
either the diminution of the authority of the bishop 
of Rome, or else the reprobation of the king's first 
pretended matrimony. 

But if they do absolutely persist in their opinions 
of the preamble, yet me seemeth it should not be re- 
fused, if they will be sworn to the very act of suc- 
cession; so that they will be sworn to maintain the 
same against all powers and potentates. For hereby 
shall be a great occasion to satisfy the Princess 
Dowager, and the lady Mary, who do think that 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 265 

they should damn their souls if they should abandon 
and relinquish their estates. And not only it should 
stop the mouths of them, but also of the emperor 
and other their friends, if they give as much credence 
to my lord of Rochester and Mr. More speaking- or 
doing against them, as they hither to have done, and 
thought that others should have done, when they 
spake and did with them. And peradventure, it 
would be a good quietation to many others within 
this realm, if such men should say, that the succes- 
sion comprised within the said act, is good accord- 
ing to God's laws. For then I think there is 
not one within this realm who could ever reclaim 
against it. 

And whereas diverse persons, either of a wilful- 
ness will not, or of an indurate and invertable con- 
science cannot, alter from their opinions of the king's 
first pretended marriage, (wherein they have once 
said their minds, and forever have a persuasion in 
their head, that, if they should now vary therefrom, 
their fame and estimation were distained for ever,) 
or else of the authority of the bishop of Rome: yet, 
if all the realm, with one accord, would apprehend 
the said succession, in my judgment it is a thing to 
be embraced. Which thing, although I trust surely 
in God that it shall be brought to pass, yet hereunto 
might not a little avail the consent and oaths of 
these two persons, the Bishop of Rochester and 
Mr. More, with their adherents, or rather confede- 
rates. And if the King's pleasure so were, their 
said oaths might be suppressed, but [except] when 
and where His Highness might take some commo- 
dity by the publishing of the same* Thus our Lord 
have you ever in his conservation. From my manor 
at Croydon, the 17th day of April. Your own 
assured ever THOMAS CANTUAR. 

But this judicious advice was not followed^ 

There was an influence behind the throne, more 

powerful than the throne itself, and it prevailed 

against feeling and justice. Let us hear Roper 

23 



266 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

upon this point. A disposition was at first shown 
to discharge Sir Thomas, upon his taking an oath, 
in which the matter of the Supremacy was not to 
appear; and it would have been done, had not Anne 
Boleyn, and her party, by their importunate cla- 
mors so sorely exasperated the King against him, 
that, contrary to his former resolution, he caused 
the said oath of Supremacy to be administered to 
him. When the authorities came to tender it, he 
excused himself in a discreet and-^-^respectful man- 
ner; but the command was imperative. On his ulti- 
mate refusual, orders arr-rived for his committal to 
the Tower, to which he was accordingly conveyed 
on Friday the 17th of April, in the custody of Sir 
Richard Southwell.* 

They entered a boat, and proceeded down the 
river to the place of destination. On their way, 
Sir Richard, pointing to the gold chain which 
More had about his neck, took the liberty of drop- 
ping a hint as to the precaution of his sending it 
home to his wife, or to one of his daughters. " Nay 
Sir," said More, with his accustomed vivacity, 
" that I will never do. As I am a knight, I would 
not have it said, that when my enemies took me in 
the field, they did not fare the better for their 
prize." On their landing, they found the Lieuten- 
ant was ready at the Tower gate to receive them; 
and on reaching the lodge, the porter, according to 
the unfeeling usage of the time, demanded his per- 
quisite of office, which consisted of the prisoner's 
upper garment. "Marry, good Master Porter," 
said Sir Thomas, " here it is," taking off his cap, 
and observing; " Here is my uppermost piece of 
dress, and sorry I am it is no better." Cerberus, 
however, was not to be soothed by a sop like this; 

* Sir Richard Southwell was thefatlier of Robert Southwell, 
the Jesuit, who was a martyr to his faith under Elizabeth 
(1595); and whose admirable productions, both in prose and 
verse, have been the delight of men of taste, of every 
creed, A future number of The *'athoi,ic Family Library, 
will make our readers acquainted with his Life and Writinge, 
and with the memorable epoch in which he flourished. 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 267 

" Sir," quoth he, "I must have your gown"— and 
his gown he had. 

He was allowed to have one of his servants to 
attend him. The man's name was .Tohn a Wood, 
who could neither read nor write. Care was how- 
ever taken to swear him, that if he should see or 
hear any thing spoken or written against the King, 
the council, or the statQ of the realm, he should 
immediately reveal it to the Lieutenant. When 
More was shown by that officer to his apartment, 
and treated with all the delicacy his situation would 
allow, he turned to him, and with all that elasticity 
of mind which nothing could destroy, observed : 
" Good Master Lieutenant, methinks I shall have 
no reason to mislike my fare; but whenever I do, 
don't spare me, I beg of you, but thrust me at once 
©ut of your doors." 



268 SIR THOMAS MORE. 



CHAPTER VIII. 
1534—1535. ^TAT. 55. 

MORE IN THE TOWER — PROJECT OF HIS DAUGHTER 
MARGARET— CORRESPONDENCE OF MRS. ALINGTON 
AND MARGARET' — PRIVATE EXAMINATIONS OF MORE 
IN THE TOWER — HIS TRIAL — DEFENCE— REPLY TO 
RICH — HIS SENTENCE — INTERROGATORIES PUT TO 
HIM AFTER HIS TRIAL — HIS EXECUTION. 



More in tb«; Tower — His firmness and resignation — Margaret's 
singular project for obtaining admission to her father— IMore's 
letter to her on the subject — Their interview — More's wife 
and family obtain access to him — Alice's conversation — Let- 
ter of Mrs. Alington to Margaret— Her account of a visit 
from the new chancellor — Her exertions in behalf of More — 
Margaret to Mrs. Alington— Account of her visit to her 
father — Shows him Mrs. Alington's letter, and his comments 
thereon — Margaret acknowledges to her father her having 
tjaken the oath, and reasons with him on the subject — More's 
communication with Bishop Fisher, and Dr. Wilson— It 
reaches the ear of the council and excites their s\ispicions — 
More is deprived of his books, papers, and writing-materials 
— Anecdote — He is compelled to write his communications, 
&c., with a coal— He is privately examined by the council— 
His account of the same in a letter to Margaret— Execution 
of Reynolds and his companions— More is brought to trial in 
the Court of King's Bench, Westminster — His appearance 
after his imprisonment — [lis answer to the long and compli- 
cated indictment drawn out against him — Proves its insuf- 
ficiency—Rich's treachery, and More's reproof— He is found 
guilty — His unreserved statement of his sentiments on the 
Supremacy — His sentence mitigated into decapitation— 
Anecdote- Affecting scene between Margaret and her father 
Interrogatories administered to him after his trial— His firm- 
ness, piety, and resignation— His last letter to Margaret — 
He receives notice to prepare for death — His gaiety to the 
last— Execution —Burial — Character. 

We are no'w touching on the period that is to terr 
minate the career of the illustrious subject of our 
memoir. During the first month, More's confine- 
ment in the To"wer was rigorous; no member of his 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 269 

family, not even his beloved Margaret being per- 
mitted to have access to him; "and yet," says Cre- 
sacre, " not for one moment did his wonted cheer- 
fulness forsake him, as we afterwards learned from 
his warder." But though denied the happiness of 
seeing her father, yet, with a feeling worthy of such 
a daughter, Margaret had written him the follow- 
ing letter, and contrived to have it conveyed to his 
solitary abode. 

" Mine own good Father! — It is to me no little 
comfort, since 1 cannot talk with you by such 
means as I would, at the least way to delight 
myself in this bitter time of your absence, by 
such means as I may, by as often writing to you, 
as shall be expedient, and by reading again and 
again your most fruitful and delectable letter, the 
faithful messenger of your very virtuous and ghostly 
mind, rid from all corrupt love of worldly things, 
and fast knit only in the love of God and desire of 
heaven, as becoraeth a ver}?^ true worshipper and a 
faithful servant of God. He, I doubt not, good 
Father, holdeth his holy hand over you, and shall as 
he hath done, preserve you both body and soul, {tit 
sit mens sana in corpore sanu); and namely, now 
when you have abjected all earthly consolations, 
and for his love resigned yourself willingly, gladly, 
and fully to his holy protection. Father, what 
think you hath been our comfort since your depart- 
ing from us] Purely, the experience we have had 
of your life past, and godly conversation, and whole- 
some counsel, and virtuous example, and a surety 
not only of the continuance of the same, but also a 
great increase, by the goodness of our Lord, to the 
great rest and gladness of your heart, devoid of all 
earthly dregs and garnished with the noble vesture 
of heavenly virtues, a pleasant palace for the Holy 
Spirit of God to rest in, who defend you (as I doubt 
not, good Father, but of his goodness he will) frara 
all trouble o fmind and of body; and give me, your 
most loving obedient daughter and handmaid, and 
all of us your children and friends, to follow that 
23* 



270 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

which we praise in you, and to our only comfort 
remember, and, coming together of you, that we 
may in conclusion meet with you, mine own dear 
Father, in the bliss of Heaven, to which our most 
merciful Lord hath bought us with his precious 
blood. 

" Your own most loving obedient daughter and 
beadswoman Margaret Roper, who desireth above 
all worldly things to be in John a Wood's stead, 
to do you some service. But we live in hope that 
we shall shortly receive you again. I pray God 
heartily we may, if it be his holy will." 

To this letter Margaret obtained no answer. Her^ 
father, anxious as he felt to acknowledge this testi 
mony of love, was too closely watched to be able 
to reply. The pain of disappointment sharpened 
her invention, and ingenuity devised what ordinary 
calculation would have failed to discover. In hours 
of severest trial, woman has often shown herself 
possessed of resources denied to him who claims 
to be her superior. Of this truth did Margaret, in 
the instance before us, exhibit a very striking ex- 
ample. The pious yearnings of a daughter's heart 
were to be satisfied, and love devised the means, 
daring, if not desperate, as they might appear to a 
less resolute spirit. Her father's whole soul was 
known to her, and of his inflexible principles re- 
specting the question of the Supremacy, she was 
fully aware: and yet it was on that very point that 
her device turned in order to gain access to the 
father she so fondly and so devotedly loved. But 
how was this difficult and hazardous project to be 
accomplished'? and yet acconiplished it was, and 
with more than a politician's address, for she out- 
witted the subtle Crumwell himself. Let Rastell 
tell the story. "After Sir Thomas had been in 
prison a month's space, or so, his daughter Marga- 
ret, anxiously desiring to see him, wittjly invented 
this craft. — She wrote a letter, wherein she seemed 
to labor to persuade him to take the oath, and sent 
it to her father, nothing doubting that it would be 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES, 271 

intercepted and carried to Cramwell, and that it 
would be the means of gaining her access to her 
father: and the slight succeeded." 

Cresacre's account of the matter is as follows: 
" Margaret Roper sent her father a letter wherein 
she seemed somewhat to labor to persuade him to 
take the oath {though she nothing so thought) to win 
thereby credence with master Thomas Crura well, 
that she might the rather get liberty to have free 
resort to her father (which she only had) during the 
greater time of his imprisonment." This draws 
forth from Sir J. Mackintosh, the following reflection. 
" It would be blameable to seek for bad motives in 
the case of so merciful an alleviation of punishment, 
as the King's license for Margaret Roper to resort 
to her father in the Tower." 

While we admire the humanity that dictated this 
sentence, we are obliged to confess that the claims 
of truth are imperative, and must take the preced- 
ency of every other feeling, however amiable in 
itself. Truth, then, compels us to confess, that 
such " bad motives" did operate in the instance 
before us; and that, in order to gain his ends, 
Crumwell did not scruple to tamper with a daugh-* 
ter's tenderest feelings, in order to convert them 
into an undue influence over the mind of a parent, 
and that this was made the price of her permission 
to visit her father. 

More being, of course, unaware of his daughter's 
motive in writing him such a letter, returns her an 
answer full of rebuke, and yet breathing the most 
tender affection, and bespeaking the most delicate 
regard for her judgment. 

3foi-e to his daughter Margaret. 
Our Lord bless you! — If I had not been, my dearly 
beloved daughter, at a firm and fast point, 1 trust in 
God's great mercy, this good great while before, 
your lamentable letter had not a little ahashed me, 
surely far above all other things, of which I hear 
(iiverse times not a few terrible towards me. But 



272 SIR THOMAS niORE, 

surely they all touched me never so near, nor were 
so crrievous unto me, as to see you, my well beloved 
child, in such vehement piteous manner, laborto per- 
suade unto me the thing- wherein I have, of pure ne- 
cessity for respect unto mine own soul, so often given 
you so precise answer before. Wherein as touching' 
the points of your letter, 1 can make none answer. For 
1 doubt not that you well remember that the matters 
which move my conscience, (without declaration 
whereof I can nothing touch the points,) I have sun- 
dry times shewed yoa that 1 will disclose them to 
no man. And therefore, daughter Margaret, I can in 
this thing no further, but like as you labor me again 
to follow your mind, to desire and pray you both 
again to leave olT such labor, and with my former an- 
sv/ers to hold yourself content.* A deadly grief 
unto me, and much more deadly than to hear of mine 
own death (for the fear thereof, I thank Our Lord, 
the fear of hell, the hope of heaven, and the passion 
of Christ daily more and more assuage,) is, that I per- 
ceive my good son your husband, and you my good 
daughter, and my good wife,, and mine other good 
children and innocent friends, in great displeasure 
and danger of great harm thereby. The /e^ [hind- 
rance] whereof while it lieth not in my hand, 1 can 
no farther but commit all to God. Nam in manu 
Dei, (saith the Scripture) cor regis es/, el sicut dioi- 
sionea aquaruni, qaocunque voluerit irnpellit illud. — 
For the heart of the king is in the hand of God, and 
like the waves of the sea, he impels it wherever he 
will. Whose high goodness 1 humbly beseech to 
incline the noble heart of the king's highness to the 
tender favor of you all, and to favor me no better 
than God and myself know that my faithful heart to- 
wards him and my daily prayer for him do deserve. 
For surely if his highness might inwardly see my 

* Rastell records this trait in his cousin Margaret's character, 
— " She could give tlie ver}' hest of counsel, and follow it too — 
a thing very rare in a woman!'' Margaret had taken the oath 
with this condition annexed — in so far as it was agreeable 
with the law of God." 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 273 

true mind such as God knoweth it is, it would, (I 
trust) somewhat assuage his high displeasure. 
Which while I can in this world never in such wise 
show, hut that his grace may be persuaded to believe 
the contrary of me, lean no further go, but put allin 
the hands of Him, for fear of whose displeasure, for 
the safeguard of my soul, stirred by mine own con- 
science, (without insectation or reproach laying to 
any other man's,) I suffer and endure this trouble. 
Out of which I beseech him to bring me, when his 
will shall be, into his endless bliss of heaven, and 
in the mean while, give me grace, and you both, 
in all our agonies and troubles, devoutl}/ to resort 
prostrate unto the remembrance of that bitter agony, 
which our Saviour suffered before his passion at the 
Mount. And if we diligently so do, I verily trust 
we shall find therein great comfort and consolation. 
And thus, my dear daughter, the blessed spirit of 
Christ, by his tender mercy govern and guide you 
all, to his pleasure and your wealth and comfort both 
of body and soul. Your tender loving Father, 

THOMAS MO^E, Knight, 

It was towards the close of May, when Margaret 
obtained the accomplishment of her earnest desire, 
for w^hich she had so boldly and so successfully 
struggled. No sooner was the door opened to her 
father's apartment, than in an instant she was in his 
arms, and clung round his neck in a long and silent 
embrace.* More then fell on his knees, and his 
daughter following his example, joined him in those 
acts of devotion, with which he sanctified all his 
actions; and which, in the present instance, served 
to restore that calm of mind which the sudden en- 
trance of her he loved first and best had for a moment 
disturbed. Then rising, and once again embracing 
his daughter, he looked fondly upon her, and said in 



Deep joys and griefs tn the same issue come; 
Thus murmur shallow brooks, the deep are dumb. 

Sir W. Raleiffh, 



274 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

his usual cheerful tone: "Well, I verily believe, 
Meg-, that they who have put me here, v/een they 
have done me a high displeasure. But I assure thee, 
on my faith, mine own good daughter, if it had not 
been for my wife, and ye who be my children, I 
should not have failed long- ere this to have been en- 
closed in as straighta room, and straighter too. But, 
since I am come hither without my own desert, I 
trust that God of his goodness will discharge me of 
my care, and with his gracious help supply my lack 
among ye. I find no cause, I thank God, Meg, to 
reckon myself in worse case here than at home; 
for methinks God maketh me a wanton, and setteth 
me on his lap and dandleth me." 

When Margaret prepared to leave the prison, he 
placed in her hand the following- note to his family, 
which she secreted in her bosom: 

To MY LOVING Friends: — Forasmuch as being in 
prison, I cannot tell what need I may have, or of what 
necessity I may hap to stand in, I heartily beseech 
5^ou all, that if my well-beloved daughter, Margaret 
Roper, who alone of all my friends hath, by the 
king-'s gracious favor, license to resort to me, should 
anything desire of any of you, of such things as I 
may hap to need, that it may like you no less to re- 
gard and tender it, than if I moved it unto you, and 
required it of yoa, personally present myself. And 
1 beseech you all to pray for me, and 1 shall pray 
for yoa. Your faithful lover and poor beadsman 
THOMAS MORE, Knight, Prisoner. 

Margaret must have looked upon this little doc- 
ument as an additional proof of the depth of her 
father's regard and confidence- 
Some short time after Margaret's visit to her fa- 
ther, his wife and the rest of his family obtained 
permission to see him. Alice, as we have already 
had occasion to remark, was an excellent housewife, 
but she was a stranger to that dignity, not to say 
delicacy of character, which we are taught to look 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 275 

for in the wife of such a man. Tp use Cresacre's 
language: " at her first entrance to his chamber, 
like a plain, good woman, and somewhat worldly 
too, she thus bluntly saluted him; ' Why, Mr, 
More, I marvel much that you, who have hitherto 
been taken for a wise man, will now so play the 
fool, as to lie here in this close filthy prison, and be 
content to be shut up with mice and rats (and here 
she turned up her nose), when you might be abroad 
at your liberty, v/ith the favor and good- will both 
of the king and the council, if you Vv'ould but do as 
all the bishops and. best learned men of his realm 
have done." She then enlarged upon his " right 
fair house at Chelsea, his library, books, gallery, 
garden und orchard, and the being merry in compa- 
ny with me your good wife, your children and 
household; and raising her voice at the conclusion, 
she thus added; 'Yea, in God's name, I muse what 
you mean by still fondly tarrying here!' More bore it 
all in his usual kindly and playful way, contriving 
always to blend religious feelings with his quaint- 
ness and humor. ' Why, good Alice,' said he 
with that winning smile of his, which nothing could 
repress, 'tell me one thing' — 'And pray what is that]* 
said she. ' Is not this house as near heaven as 
mine own]' She answered him in her customary 
exclamation of contempt; ' Oh, tilly valley, tilly 
valley!' He treated her harsh language as a 
wholesome exercise for his patience, and replied 
with equal mildness, though Vv'ith more gravity; 
' How, sayst thou, Alice] Is it not so indeed]" — 
' Bone DeusI man," was Alice's hasty reply, ' will 
this gear [matter] be never given over]" — " Nay 
then, Alice," continued More, ' if it be so, I see no 
great^cause why I should joy in my fair house, or 
in any thing belonging thereunto, when if 1 should 
have been buried in my grave but seven years, and 
rise arid come hither again,* I should not fail to find 



* He might have said but seven months," adds Cresaere in 
a paren thesis. 



276 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

some therein that would bid me get out of doors and 
tell me plainly it were none of mine. What cause, 
then, have 1 to like such a house, as would so 
soon forget its master?' Alice was a testy soul, 
but she did not want feeling, and these allusions 
had the effect of sabdaing her spirit. More perceiv- 
ed the effect of his words, and patting her on the 
cheek — ' Now, good mistress Alice,' said he, ' do 
tell me how long you think one might live to enjoy 
this house of ours]' ' Perhaps some twenty years.' 
" Well now, my good Alice, if you had said some 
thousand, nay some hundred years even, it had been 
somewhat; and yet he were a very bad calculator 
that would risk the losing of an eternity for some 
hundred or thousand years. But what, if we are 
not sure of enjoying our possessions a single day!' 
Thus it was that More's habitual good humor never 
forsook him, and nothing, to use Cresacre's remark, 
" could be a surer proof, that all was at ease from 
within." 

And here, it would be unjust not to allege in 
excuse for Alice, that she was not without cause 
for being out of humor. " Right fair as was her 
house at Chelsea," that evil genius the res angusta 
dovii — want and her attendant ills, had taken up 
their abode within its once happy walls. This we 
gather from the following letter, which accident has 
preserved, and which tells the tale more effectually 
than whole pages could do. 

Mistress Alice More to Secretary Crumwell. 
To the Right Honorable, and her especial good 
master. Master secretary — In my most humble 
wise I recommend me to your good mastership, 
acknowledging myself to be most deeply bounden 
to you, for your manifold goodness and loving fa- 
vor, before this time, and now daily shown towards 
my poor husband and me. I pray Almighty God, 
to continue your goodness so still, for thereupon 
hangeth the greatest part of my poor husband's com- 



HIS Ll^E AND TIMES. 277* 

fort and mine. The cause of my writing; at this 
time is, to certify your especial good mastership of 
my great and extreme necessity; who, on and be- 
sides the charge of mine own house, do pay weekly 
fifteen shillings for the board-wages of my poor hus- 
band and his servant,^^ for the maintaining whereof, 
I have been compelled, of very necessity, to sell part 
of my own apparrel, for lack of other substance to 
make money of. Wherefore, my mosi humble pe-* 
tition and suit to your mastership, at this time, is to 
desire your advice and counsel, whether I may be 
Bo bold as to attend upon the king's most gracious 
highness. I trust there is no doubt in this case of 
any impediment; for the young man, being a plough- 
man had been diseased with the ague for the space 
of three weeks before he departed. And besides 
this, it is now five weeks since it departed, and nd 
other person diseased in the house since that time. f 
Wherefore I most humbly beseech your especial 
good mastership (as my only trust is, and else know 
not what to do, but utterly in this world to be un- 
done), for the love of God to consider the premises; 
and thereupon of your most abundant goodness, to 
show your most favorable help to the comforting of 
my poor husband and me, in this. our great heaviness, 
extreme age, and necessity. And thus we, and all 
ours, shall daily, during our lives, pray to God for 
the prosperous success of your right honorable dig- 
nity. By your poor continual oratrix. 

Dame ALICE MORE.:|: 

The following correspondence that passed in the 
August next after Sir Thomas's imprisonment, be- 
tween Margaret Roper, and Mrs. Alice Alington, 
the married daughter of Alice by her first husband, 

* A curious fact is here disclosed, tliat the state prisoners at 
the period in question were supported at the expense of their 
own families. 

t Doubtless the recent prevalence of the Sweating Sickness 
had been the cause of the great precautions alluded to in this 
passage. 

I From Dr. Howard's Collection. 1753. 
9A 



278 Sir thomas more, 

is so full of interest in itself, and throws so much 
light upon Sir Thomas's private history at this 
period, that it is matter of surprise his biographers 
should have neglected to avail themselves of mate- 
rials so important. The letters are preserved in 
Rastell's Edition of More's Works. (1557.) 

Mice Jllington to Margaret Roper. 
Sister Roper:— With all my heart, I recommend 
me to you, thanking you for all kindness. The 
cause of my writing at this time, is to show you, 
that, within two hours after my coming home, my 
Lord Chancellor [Audley] did come to take a course 
at buck in our Park, the which was to my husband a 
great coml'ort, that it would please him so to do. 
When he had taken his pleasure, and killed his 
deer; he went to Sir Thomas Barneston's to bed; 
where I was the next day with him at his desire, the 
M'hich I could not say nay to, for methougbthe did 
bid me very heartily: and most especially because 
I would speak to him for my father. And when I 
saw my time, I did desire him, as humbly as I 
could, that he would (as I have heard say he had 
been) be still good lord unto my father. First, he 
answered me, that he would be as glad to do for 
him, as for his own father, and that, he said, did 
very well appear when the matter of the nun was 
laid to his charge. And as for this other matter, 
he marvelled that my father is so obstinate in his 
own conceit, in that every body went forth withal, 
save only the blind bishop and he. And, in good 
faith, said my Lord, I am very glad that I have no 
learning, but in a few of iEsop's fables, of the 
which 1 shall tell you one. There was a country 
in which there were almost none but fools, saving 
a few who were wise, and they by their wisdom 
knew that there should fall a great rain, the which 
should make all them fools that were wet there- 
with. They, seeing that, made them a cave under 
the ground till the rain was passed. Then came 
they forth, thinking to make the fools do what they 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 279 

list, and to rule them as they would. But the fools 
would none of that, and would have the rule them- 
selves for all their craft. And when the wise men 
saw that they could not obtain their purpose, they 
wished they had been in the rain, and had wet 
their clothes with them. When this tale was told, 
my Lord did laugh very merrily. Then I said to 
him, that, for all his merry fable, I put no doubt 
that he would be good Lord unto my father, when 
he saw his time. He said, I would not have your 
father so scrupulous of his conscience. And then 
he told me another fable of a Lion, an Ass, and a 
Wolf, and of their confession. First, the Lion con- 
fessed that he had devoured all the beasts he could 
come by. His confessor assoiled [absolved] him, 
because he was a king, and also it was his nature 
so to do. Then came the poor Ass, and said that 
he took but one straw out of his master's shoe for 
hunger, by means whereof he thought that his mas- 
ter did take cold. His confessor could not assoil 
this great trespass, but by and by he sent him to 
the bishop. Then came the Wolf and made his 
confession, and he was straitly commanded that he 
should not pass sixpence at a meal. But when the 
said Wolf had used this but a little while, he waxed 
very hungry, insomuch that on a day when he saw 
a cow with her calf come by him, he said to him- 
self, I am very hungry, and fain would I eat, but 
that I am bound by my ghostly father. Notwith- 
standing that, my conscience shall judge me; and 
if that be so, then shall my conscience be thus — 
that the cow doth seem to me but worth a groat; 
and if the cow be but worth a groat, then is 
the calf but worth sixpence. So did the Wolf eat 
both the cow and the calf. Now, my good sister, 
hath not my Lord told me two pretty fables'? In 
good faith, they pleased me nothing, for I wist not 
what to say, and I was abashed of this answer. 
And I see no better suit than to Almighty God, for 
he is the comforter of all sorrows, and will not fail 
his servants when they have most need. Thus, fare 



080 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

ye well, my own g'ood sister. Written the Monday 
after St. Lawrence, [August 13th,] in haste 
Your sister ALICE ALINGTON. 

Margaret Roper to Alice Alington. 
Sister Alington: — When I came next unto my 
father, methought it both convenient and necessary 
to show him your letter; convenient, that he might 
see your loving labor taken for him; necessary, 
since he might perceive thereby, that if he stood 
still in this scruple of his conscience, (so at least 
it is called by many that are his friends, and by 
his wife,) all his friends that seem most able to do 
him good, either shall finally forsake him, or, per- 
adventure, not be able indeed to do him any good 
at all. For these causes, at my next being with 
him, after your letter received, when I had awhile 
talked with him, first of his diseases, both of his 
breast of old, and of his reins anew, and of the cramp 
also that diverse nights grieveth him in the legs, and 
that T found by his words they were not much in-^ 
creased, but continued after the manner that they 
did before, sometimes very sore, and sometimes 
little grief, and as at that time I found him out of pain, 
and, as one in his case might, meetly well-minded, 
after our Seven Psalms and the Litany said, to sit 
and talk, and be merry, beginning first with other 
things, of the good comfort of my mother, and the 
good order of my brother and all my sisters, dispose 
ing themselves every day, more by more, to set 
little by the world, and draw more and more to God; 
and that his household, his neighbors, and other 
good friends abroad, diligently remembered him 
in their prayers, I added: 1 pray God, good father, 
that their prayers, and ours, and your own there- 
with, may purchase of God the grace, that you may 
in this great matter (for which you stand in this 
trouble, and for your trouble, all we also that love 
you) take such a way by time, as, standing with the 
pleasure of God, may content and please the king, 
■vyhom ye have gilways found so singularly gracious 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 281 

unto you, that, if we were stiffly to refuse to do 
the thing that were his pleasure, which, God not 
displeased, you might do (as many great, wise, and 
well-learned men say, that, in this thing, you may), 
it would both be a great blot in your worship in every 
wise man's opinion, and as myself have heard some 
say, whom yourselfhave always taken for well-learn- 
ed and good, a peril unto your soul also. But as for 
that point, farther I will not be bold to dispute 
upon, since, I trust in God, and your good mind, 
that you will look surely thereto; and your learn- 
ing I know for such, that I w^ot well you can. But, 
one thing is there which I, and other your friends 
perceive abroad, which, if it be not shown you, you 
may, peradventure, to your great peril mistake, and 
I hope shall be likely to fall to 5rou for less harm, 
than I sore fear me, for, as for good, I wot well that 
in this world, of this matter at least, ye look for 
none. I tell you, father, that I have received a 
letter of late from my sister Alington, by which T 
see well, that, if ye change not your mind, ye are 
likely to lose all those friends that are about to do 
you any good. Or if ye leese [lose] not their good 
will, you shall at least leese the effect thereof, for 
any good that they shall be able to do you. With 
this my father smiled upon me and said: What! 
mistress Eve, — as I called you when you came _^r5^ 
[on a former occasion], hath vay daughter Alington 
played the serpent with you, and with a letter set 
you a work to com.e tempt your father again: and 
for the favor that you bear him, labor to make him 
swear against his conscience, and to send him to the 
devil? And after that he looked sadly again, and 
earnestly said to me; Daughter Margaret, we two 
have talked this thing over twice or thrice; and the 
same tale in effect that you tell me now, and the 
same fears too, have you twice told me before, and 
I have twice answered you, that, if in this matter it 
were possible for me to content the king's grace, 
and God therewith not offended, there hath no man 
taken this oath already more gladly than I would do; 
24# 



282 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

as one that reckoneth himself more deeply bounden 
than any other to the kinof's highness, for his singu- 
lar bounty many ways showed to me. But since, 
standing my conscience, I can in no wise do it, and 
that for instructing my conscience in this matter I 
have not slightly considered, but many years advised 
and studied, and never yet could see nor hear the 
thing, nor I think ever shall, that could induce my 
mind to think otherwise, 1 have no manner of re- 
miedy; God hath placed me in this strait, that 
either I must deadly displease him, or abide any 
worldly harm that, for any other sins, he shall, UU' 
der the name of this thing, suffer to fall upon me. 
Which thing, as I have before told you, I have ere 
I came here, not left unbethought or unconsidered 
the very worst and uttermost that can by possibility 
befal. And albeit that I know my own frailty 
full well and the natural faintness of my own heart, 
yet, if I had not trusted that God would give me 
strength rather to endure all things than offend him 
by swearing ungodly against my conscience, you 
may be very sure I should not have come here. And 
as in this matter I look only to God, it concerns me 
but little though men call it as it please them, and 
say it is no conscience, but a foolish scruple. 

A t this word, I took a good occasion, and said to him 
thus: In good faith, father, for my part, I neither do, 
nor would it become me to mistrust your good mind, 
or your learning. But as you say that some call it 
but a scruple, 1 assure you that I see in my sister's 
letter, one of the highest estates in this realm; and 
a man learned too, as I dare say yourself shall think 
when you know him, and whom you have already 
effectually proved for your tender friend and very 
special good lord, accounteth your conscience, in 
this matter, for a right simple scruple. And you may 
be sure he saith it of good mind, and layeth no little 
cause therein; for he saith, where you say your con- 
science moveth you, all the nobles of this realm, and 
almost all other men too, go boldly forth with the 
contrary, and none stick thereat, save only yourself 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 283 

and one other man; who, though he be right good 
and very learned, yet mean I that few that love you, 
give you the counsel, against all other men to cleave 
to his mind alone. And at this word I gave him 
your letter that he might see my words were not 
feigned but spoken by him, whom he loveth and 
esteemeth highly. Thereupon he read over your 
letter. And when he came to the end, he began it 
afresh, and read it over again; and in the reading 
he made no manner of haste, butadvised it leisurely 
and pointed every word. And after that he paused, 
and then he said: Forsooth, daughter Margaret, I 
find my daughter Alington such as I have ever found 
her, and I trust ever shall, as naturally minding of 
me as you that are mine own. Howbeit, her take 
'^ verily for mine own too, since I have married her 
mother, and brought her up from a child, as I have 
brought up you, in other things and in learning both, 
.wherein 1 thank God, she findeth now some fruit, 
and bringeth her son up very virtuously and well. 
Therefore God, I thank him, hath sent her good 
store, our Lord preserve them, and send her much 
joy of them, and my good son, her gentle husband 
too, and have mercy on the soul of mine other 
good son, her first. I am daily a beadsman, and so 
write her, for them all. In this matter she hath used 
herself like herself — wisely, and like a very daugh- 
ter towards me, and at the end of the letter giveth 
as good counsel as any man, that wit hath, could 
wish. God give me grace to follow it, and God 
reward her for it. Now, daughter Margaret, as for 
my lord, I not only think, but have also found, that 
he is undoubtedly my singular good lord. And in 
my other business concerning the silly nun, as my 
cause was good and clear, so was he my good lord 
therein, and master secretary my good master too. 
For this I shall never cease to be faithful beadsman 
for them both, and daily do I, by my troth, pray 
for them, as I pray for myself. And whenever it 
shall happen, — which I trust in God shall never 
happen, that I be found other than a true man to my 



284 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

prince, let them never favor me neither of them, nor, 
in troth, could it become them so to do. But in 
this matter, Meg-, to tell the truth between thee and 
me, my lord's JSsop's fables do not greatly move 
me. But as his wisdom for his pastime merely 
told them to mine own daughter, so shall I for my 
pastime answer them to thee, Meg, for mine. The 
first fable of the rain that washed away all their wits, 
that stood abroad when it fell, I have heard oft ere 
this, it being a tale so often told among the king's 
council by my lord cardinal, when his grace was 
chancellor, that I cannot lightly forget it. In times 
past, when variance began to fall between the em- 
peror and the French king, so that they fell together 
at war, there were in the council sundry opinions, 
in which some thought it wisdom that we should sit 
still, and let them alone; but evermore against this my 
lord used the fable of the wise men. And so said 
his grace, if we like them, would be so wise as to 
sit in peace, while the fools fought, they could not 
fail after to make peace and agree, and fall at length 
altogether upon us. I will nevermore dispute upon his 
grace's counsel, and I trust we never made war but 
as reason would. But, yet this did, in his days, 
help the king and the realm to spend many a fair 
penny. But that gear is passed, and his grace is 
gone, our lord assoil his soul! Howbeit daughter 
Roper, whom my lord here taketh for the wise men, 
and whom for the fools, I cannot very well guess; 
I cannot very well read such riddles; I may say, 
you wot well, non sum (Edipus^ sed\ Morus — which 
word, what it signifieth in Greek, I need not tell 
you. But I trust my lord reckoneth me among 
the fools, as my name in Greek would import. But 
surely among those that long to be rulers, God and 
my conscience know, that no man can reckon me. 
It is well known that the king of his goodness 
made me a ruler in this noble realm, and that, at my 
own great labor, I was by his goodness discharged. 
But whomsoever my lord mean by the fools and 
the wise, I beseech our lord to make us all so wise, 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 285 

that we may, every man, rule ourselves wisely in 
this time of tears, this vale of miseries, this simple 
wretched world, that when we shall hence in haste, 
to meet the great spouse, we be not taken as sleep- 
ers, nor for lack of light in our lamps be shut out 
of heaven among the foolish virgins. 

As to the second fable, I see not how that can well 
be j^sop's as the matter turns on confession. But 
what matter who made if? Yet surely is it some- 
what too subtle for me. By the foolish scrupulous 
ass, his lordship's other words show that he meant 
me. He thinketh the thing but a trifle, and as you 
told me, Margaret, right now, so think many, as 
well spiritual as temporal, and that even of those 
whom for their learning and virtue I not a little 
esteem. And yet believe I not very surely that 
every man so thinketh that so saith. But though 
they did, daughter, that would not make much to 
me, not though I should see my lord of Rochester 
say the same, and swear the oath himself before me. 
For, whereas you told me right now, that such as 
love me, would not advise me, against all other 
men, to lean upon his mind alone; verily, daughter, 
no more I do. For albeit of very truth, I have him 
in that reverend estimation, that I reckon in this 
realm no one man, in wisdom, learning, and long 
approved virtue, meet to be matched with him, yet, 
that in this matter I was not led by him, plainly ap- 
peareth both in that I refused the oath before it was 
offered him, and also that his lordship was content 
to have sworn to that oath either somewhat more, 
or in some other manner than ever I minded to do. 
Verily, daughter, I never intended to pin my soul 
to another man's back, not even the best man that 
1 know this day living, for I know not whither he 
may happen to carry it. There is no man living of 
whom, while he liveth, I may make myself sure. 
Some may act through favor, and some through fear, 
and so might they carry my soul some wrong way. 
And some may happen to frame himself a conscience. 



286 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

and think, that, while he did it for fear, God would 
forgive it. And some may, peradventure, think that 
they will repent and be shriven thereof, and that so 
shall God remit it them. And some may, peradven- 
ture, be of the mind, that if they say one thing, and 
think the while the contrary, God more regardeth 
their heart than their tongue, and therefore that their 
oath goeth upon that they think, and not upon that 
they say: as a woman reasoned once, I trow, daugh- 
ter, you being by. But, in good faith, Margaret, I 
can use no such ways in so great a matter; but as 
if mine own conscience served me, I would not let 
[hesitate] to do it, though other men refused, so, 
though others do it, I dare not, my own conscience 
standing against it. If I had, as I told you, looked 
but lightly on the matter, 1 should have cause to 
fear; but now have I so looked on it so long, that, 
I purpose at least to have no less regard unto my 
soul, than had once a poor honest man of the country 
called Cumpany. And with tliis he told me a tale, 
which I ween I can scant tell you again, because 
it hangeth upon some turns and ceremonies of the 
law. But as far as I can call it to mind, it was this. 
There is a court belonging to every fair, to do jus- 
tice in such things as happen within the same. This 
court had a pretty fond name, but I cannot happen 
on it; but it beginneth with a pie, and the remnant 
goeth much like the name of a knight that 1 have 
known, I wis, and you too, I trow, for he hath been 
at my father's oft, at such time as you were there, 
a meetly tall black man; his name was Sir William 
Pounder.* Now the matter was this. Upon a time, 
at such a court holden in Bartholemew fair, there was 
an escheator of London that had arrested a man 
that was outlawed, and had seized his goods, that 
he had brought into the fair, tolling him out of the 
fair by a train. The man that was arrested and his 



* Margaret has a dro'l Hiid very rniindabntit way in getting 
at the court of Pic Powder. Whodoes not recojrnise in iVlarga- 
ret's manner and churaitcr, a true chip of the old block? 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 287 

goods seized, was a northern man; who by his 
friends caused the escheator to be arrested in the 
fair, upon some action, I wot not what, and so was 
he brought before the judge of the court of pie Sir 
"William Pounder. At last the matter came to a 
certain ceremony to be tried by a quest of twelve men, 
ajary, as I remember they call it, or else a perjury. 
Now had the northern man, by friendship of the 
officers, found means to have almost all the quest 
made of northern men, such as had their booths there 
standing in the fair. Now in the afternoon, the 
twelve men having heard both the parties and their 
counsel tell their tales at the bar, were irom the 
bar had into a place to talk in common and agree 
upon this sentence. Nay, let me speak better in 
my terms yet, I trow the judge giveth the sentence, 
and the quest's tale is called a verdict. They were 
scant come together, when the northern men were 
agreed to cast our London escheator. They thought 
there needed no more to prove that he did wrong, 
than even the name of his bare office alone. But 
then, as the devil would have it, there was among 
them an honest man of another quarter, who was 
called Cumpany. And because the fellow seemed 
but a poor soul that sat still and said nothing, they 
made no reckoning of him, but said: " Well, we be 
agreed now; come let us go give our verdict." Then 
when the poor fellow saw that they made such haste, 
and his mind nothing gave him the way that these 
did, he prayed them to tarry and talk over the mat- 
ter, and tell him such reasons therein that he might 
think as they did; that when he so should do, he 
would be glad to say with them, or else he said 
they must pardon him; for since he had a soul of his 
own to save, as they had, he must say as he thought 
for his, as they must for theirs. When they 
heard this, they were half angry with him. " What! 
good fellow," quoth one of the northern men, 
whence wonnest thou [what wouldst thou be about]! 
Be not we eleven here, and thou but one, and all we 
agreed! Wherefore shouldst thou stick! What is 



288 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

thy name, good fellow?" — "Masters," quoth he, 
my name is Cumpany." "Company!" quoth they; 
now by thy troth, play then the good companion, 
come forth with us and pass for good company.''^ 
" Would to God, good masters," quoth the man 
again, " that there lay no more weight thereon. But 
now, when we shall hence, and come before God, 
and that he shall send you to heaven for doing ac- 
cording to your conscience, and me to the devil for 
doing against mine, in passing here at your request 
for good company. Nov/ tell me, master Dickon- 
son, (that was one of the northern men's names), if 
I were to say to you, and all of you, masters, I 
went once for good company with you, which is the 
cause that I now go to hell; now play you the good- 
fellows with me, and as I then went for good com- 
pany with you, so do you come now for good com- 
pany with me. Would ye go, master Dickenson'? 
nay, nay, by our lady, never a one of you. And 
therefore must ye pardon me from passing as you 
pass. The passing of my soul to Heaven passeth 
all good company." 

And when my father had told me this tale, he 
said: I prithee now, good Margaret, tell me this; 
wouldst thou wish thy poor father, being at least 
somewhat learned, less to regard the peril of his 
soul, than did that honest unlearned man? I med-*- 
die not, you wot well, with the conscience of any 
man that hath sworn; nor do I take upon me to be 
their judge. Now, if I were in like case with the 
good man Cumpany, and were so to reason with such 
and such a lord, yea, and with such and such a bishop 
too, as I love best: by my truth, Margaret, I may 
say to thee in secret, here between us twain, (but let 
it go no farther I beseech thee heartily), I find the 
friendship of this wretched world so fickle, that, 
for anything I could pray, not one among them all, I 
wean, would go to the devil with me for fellowship's 
sake. Then, by heaven, Margaret, if there were 
twice as many more of them than there be, I must 
first have respect to mine own soul.— Surely, father, 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 289 

without any scruple at all, you may be bold, I dare 
say, to swear that. But, father, they that think you 
should not refuse to swear the thing-, that you see 
so many good men and learned swear before you, 
meant not that you should swear to bear them fel- 
lowship, nor to pass with them for good company; 
but that the credence that you may, with reason, 
give to their persons for the aforesaid qualities, 
should well m.ove you to think the oath such of it- 
self, that every man may well swear thereto with- 
out peril of his soul, if his own private conscience 
to the contrary be not the let [hindrance]; and that 
ye well ought, and have good cause to change your 
own conscience, by conforming it to the conscience 
of so many others, being such as you know they be. 
And since it is also by a law made by the parlia- 
ment, commanded, they think that you be, upon 
the peril of your soul, bound to change and reform 
your conscience, and conform it to other men's. — 
Marry! Margaret, quoth my father again, for the 
part that you play, you play it not much amiss. 
But, Margaret, first as for the law of the land, 
thouffh every man born and inhabiting therein, is 
bound to the keeping it, in every case, upon some 
temporal pain, and in many cases upon pain of 
God's displeasure too, yet is there no man bound 
to swear that every law is well made, nor bound 
upon the pain of God's displeasure to perform any 
such point of the law, as were indeed unlawful. 
Of which kind, that there may such happen to be 
niade in any part of Christendom, I suppose no man 
doubteth, the general council of the whole body of 
Christendom, evermore in that point except. But, as 
after the determination of a well assembled general 
council, every man is bound to give credence that 
way, and to conform his own opinion to the deter- 
mination of the council generally, and then all they 
that held the contrary before, were for that holding 
out of blame; so, if before such decision, a man had, 
against his own conscience, sworn to maintain and 
defend the other side, he had not failed to oflfend 
25 



290 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

God very sore. But, marry! if, on the other side a 
man would in a matter take a way by himself, upon 
his own mind alone, or with some few, or with ne- 
ver so many, against an evident truth, appearing by 
the common faith of Christendom, this conscience is 
very damnable. Yea, even if it be not so fully 
plain and evident, yet if he see himself, with far the 
greater part, think one way against far the greater 
part of as well learned and as good men, as those 
are that affirm the thing that he thinketh, thinking and 
affirming the contrary, and that such folks as he had 
no reasonable cause to doubt, this is, in truth, a good 
occasion to move him, and yet not to compel him to 
conform his mind and conscience to theirs. But, 
Margaret, for what causes I refuse the oath, that 
thing, as I have often told you, I will never show 
you, neither you nor any body else, except the 
king's highness should like to command me; which, 
if his grace did, I have before told you how obedi- 
ently I should. But, surely, daughter, I have re- 
fused it, and do, for more causes than one; and for 
what cause soever I refuse it, this am I sure — that 
it is well known, that of those who have sworn it, 
and they too the best, learned, before the oath given 
them said and plainly affirmed the contrary of some 
such things as they have now sworn in the oath, and 
that, upon their truth and their learning, and not in 
haste nor suddenly, but after great diligence done to 
find out the truth. — That might be, father, quoth I, 
and yet since then they may have seen more. — I will 
not, quoth,he, dispute, daughter Margaret, against 
that, nor misjudge any other man's conscience which 
lieth in their own breast, far out of my sight. But this 
will I sajj", that I myself never heard the cause of their 
change, by any new further thing found of authority, 
than, as far as I perceive, they had looked on, and 
as I suppose, very well weighed before. Now, if 
of the self same things that they saw before, some 
seem otherwise unto them now than they did be- 
fore, I am for their sake the gladder a great deal. 
But, as for any thing that ever I saw before, at this 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 291 

day it seems to me as it did before. Yet, though 
they may do othervvise than once they might, yet, 
daughter, I may not. As for such things as some 
men would haply say, that I might with reason the 
less regard their change, considering that the keep- 
ing of the prince's pleasure, and the avoiding of his in- 
tiignation, thefear of their losing of their worldly sub- 
stance, and of the discomforture of theirkindred and 
friends, might haply make some men either swear 
otherwise than they think, or frame their conscience 
afresh to think otherwise than they thought, any 
such opinion as this will I not conceive of them. I 
have better hope of their goodness, than to think of 
them so. For had such things turned them, the 
same things had been likely to affect me: for, in 
faith, I know few so faint-hearted as myself. There- 
fore will I, Margaret, think no worse of other folks 
in the thing that I know not, than of that I find in 
m 'Self. But as I know well that mine owm conscience 
causeth me to refuse the oath, so will 1 trust in Grod, 
that, according to their conscience, they have re- 
ceived and sworn it. But whereas, you think, Mar- 
garet, that there are so many more on the other side, 
than on the side that think in this thing as I think, 
surely, for your own comfort, must I disabuse you 
of that thought, which maketh you conclude that 
your father casteth himself away like a fool, jeo- 
parding the loss of his substance, and peradventure 
his body too, without any cause why he so should, 
for peril of his soul, but rather his soul in peril there- 
by too; to this shall I say to thee, Margaret, that in 
some of my reasons, I nothing doubt at all, that 
though not in this realm, yet in Christendom, those 
well-learned and virtuous men still living, who are 
of my opinion, are not the fev/er part. 

But for the conclusion, daughter Margaret, of all 
this matter;' I tell you again, as I have often told 
you, that I take not upon me to define or dispute 
in these matters, nor do I rebuke or repugn any 
other man's deed; nor have I ever written, nor so 
much as spoken in any company any word of re» 



292 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

proach regarding' any thing that the parliament had 
passed, nor meddled I with the conscience of any 
man, that either thinketh or saith he thinketh con- 
trary unto mine. But as concerning mine own self, 
for thy comfort shall I say to thee, daughter, that 
my own conscience in this matter is such as may 
well stand with mine own salvation; thereof am I, 
Meg, as sure as there is a God in heaven. And, 
therefore, as for all the rest — goods, lands, and life 
itself (if the chance should so fortune,) since this 
conscience is sure for me, I verily trust in God, that 
he shall rather strengthen me to bear the loss, than 
against this conscience to swear, and put my soul 
in peril. — When he saw me sit at this very sad — as 
I promise you, sister, my heart was full heavy for 
the peril of his person, for in faith, I fear not for 
his soul — he smiled upon me, and said: Why, how 
now, daughter Margaret? how now, mother Eve, 
where is your mind now? Sit you not musing with 
some serpent in your breast upon some pew persua- 
sion, to offer Father Adam the apple once again? — 
In good faith, father, quoth I, I can no farther go. 
I am, as I trow Cresside saith in Chaucer, comen to 
Dulcarno, even at rny wit's end. For since the 
example of so many wise men cannot in this mat- 
ter move you, 1 see not what more to say; except I 
should look to persuade you with the reasoning that 
Master Harry Paterson made. For he met one of 
our men one day, and when he had asked where 
you were, and heard that you were in the Tower 
still, he waxed even angry with you and said: 
Why? what aileth him that he will not swear? 
Wherefore should he stick to swear — I have sworn 
the oath! And so, father, I can, in faith go no far- 
ther, not even if after the many wise men whom ye 
lake for no sample, I should say with Master Harry, 
why should you refuse to swear, father, for I have 
sworn myself? At this he laughed and said; That 
v/ord was like Eve too, for she oifered Adam no 
w^orse fruit than she had eaten herself. — But yet, 
father, quoth I, I fear me very sore, that this mat- 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 293 

ter will bring you into marvellous heavy trouble. 
You well know, as I showed you, that Master Sec- 
retary sent you word, as your very friend, to remem- 
ber that the Parliament lasteth yet,' — Margaret, 
quoth my father, I thank him right heartily. But I 
must show you again, that I left not this gear un- 
thoughton. And albeit, I know well, that if they 
were to make a law to do me any harm, that law 
could never be lawful. But God shall, I trust, keep 
me in that grace, that, concerning my duty to m.y 
prince, no man shall do me harm, except he do me 
wrong. And then, as I told you, (this is like a rid- 
dle) that there is a case in which a man may lose his 
head, and have no harm. 

" And notwithstanding also, I have good ho])e, 
that God shall neversuffer so good and wise a prince, 
in such way to requite the long service of his true 
faithful servant; yet, since there is nothing impos- 
sible to fall, I forget not in this matter the counsel 
of Christ in the gospel, that ere I should begin to 
build this castle, for the safeguard of mine own soul, 
I should sit and reckon, what the charge should be. 
1 counted, Margaret, full surely many a restless 
night, while my wife slept, and weighed, ere 1 slept, 
what peril might befal me: so far forth, that I am 
sure there came no care above mine. And in devis- 
ing thereupon, daughter, I had a full heavy heart. 
But, yet, I thank our Lord, that, for all that, I 
never thought to change, though the very uttermost 
should happen to me that my fears run upon. 

No, father, quoth I, it is not like to think upon 
a thing that may be, and to see a thing that shall 
be, as ye should (our Lord save you!) if the 
chance should so fortune. And then should you, 
peradventure, think, what you think not now, and 
yet then, peradventnre, it would be too late. — Too 
late, Margaret! quoth my father; I beseech our Lord, 
that, if ever I make such a charge, it may be too 
late indeed. For well I wot the change cannot 
be good for my soul; that change, I say, that should 
grow but by fear. 

25* 



294 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

And, therefore, I pray God, that, in this world, I 
may never have g-ood of such change. For as much 
as I take harm here, I shall at least have the less 
thereof when I am hence. And if it so were, that I 
wist well now that I should faint and fall, and, 
through fear, swear hereafter, yet would I wish to 
take harm by the refusing first, for so should I have 
the better hope for grace to rise again. And albeit, 
Margaret, that I wot well my lewdness hath been 
such, that I know myself well worthy that God 
should let me slip, yet can I not but trust in his 
merciful goodness, that, as his grace hath strength- 
ened me hitherto, and made me content in my 
heart, to lose goods, lands, and life too, rather than 
to swear against my conscience, and hath also put 
in the king towards me that good and gracious 
mind, that, as yet, he hath taken from me nothing 
but my liberty; and herein, so help me God, His 
Highness hath done me so great good by the spi- 
ritual profit that, I trust, I take thereby, that among 
all his great benefits heaped upon me so thick, I 
reckon upon njy imprisonment even as the very 
chief. I cannot, I say, therefore, mistrust the grace 
of God, but that either he shall preserve and keep 
the king in that gracious mind still to do me no 
hurt, or else, if his pleasure be, that, for mine other 
sins, I shall suffer in such a cause as I shall not 
deserve, his grace shall give me strength to take it 
patiently, and peradveniure, somewhat gladly too, 
whereby his High Goodness shall, through the 
merits of his bitter passion, make it serve for a re- 
lease of the pain in purgatory, and over that for 
increase of some reward in heaven. Mistrust him, 
Meg, will I not, though I should feel me faint. 
Yea, and though I should feel my fear even at 
point to overthrow me too, yet shall I remember 
how St. Peter with a blast of wind began to sink 
for his faint faith, and shall do as he did, call upon 
Christ, and pray him to help. And, then, I trust, 
he shall set his holy hand upon me, and in the 
stormy seas hold me up froni drowning. Yea, and 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 295 

if he suffer me to play St. Peter farther, and to fall 
to the ground, and swear and forswear him too 
(which our Lord of his tender passion keep me from, 
and let me lose if it so fall, and never win thereby!) 
yet after shall I trust that his goodness will cast 
upon me a tender and piteous eye, as he did upon 
the fallen apostle, and make me stand up again, 
and confess the truth of my conscience afresh, and 
abide the shame and the harm of my fault here. 
And finally, Margaret, this wot I very well, that 
without my fault he will not let me be lost. I shall, 
therefore, with good hope commit myself wholly 
to him. And if he suffer me for my faults to perish, 
yet shall I then serve for a praise of his justice. 
But in good faith, Meg, I trust that his tender pity 
shall keep my poor soul safe, and make me com- 
mend his mercy. And, therefore, mine own good 
daughter, never trouble thy mind for any thing 
that shall happen to me in this world. No- 
thing can come, but what God will; and I make 
me very sure, whatsoever that be, in sight seem it 
never so bad, it shall in deed be the best. And 
with this, my good child, I pray you heartily, be 
you, and all your sisters, and my sons too, comfort- 
able and serviceable to your good mother, my wife. 
And of your good husbands' minds I have no man- 
ner of doubt. Commend me to them all, and to 
my good daughter Alington, and to all my other 
friends, sisters, nieces, nephews, and all; and unto 
all our servants, man, woman, and child, and to 
all my good neighbors, and our acquaintance 
abroad. And I right heartily pray both you and 
them to serve God, and be merry and rejoice in 
him. And if any thing happen to me, that you 
would be loath, pray to God for me, but trouble not 
yourself. Pray for me as heartily as I shall pray 
for all of us, that we may meet together once in 
heaven, where we shall make merry for ever, and 
never have trouble more. 

Your sister, MARGARET ROPER. 



296 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

More's wife and family, with the exception of 
Marg-aret, seem rarely to have been admitted to visit 
him; to her almost freedom of access appears to 
have been granted, in the treacherous hope that her 
intercourse with a father with whom she held so 
much influence, would tend to soften him into com- 
pliance with the royal wish. 

That some little things that passed in the inter- 
views between More and his daughter transpired, 
probably by means of the warden of the prison, is 
clear from the following passages in Cresacre. 
*' Now, whereas the oath of the Supremacy and 
Marriage, was comprised in few words, in tlie first 
statute, the lord chancellor and oar secretary did, of 
their own heads, add more words to it, to make it 
seem more plausible; and this oath, so amplified, 
they had exhibited to Sir Thomas and others. Re- 
specting this deed of theirs, Sir Thomas said to his 
daughter; " T may tell thee, Meg, that they who 
have committed me hither, for refusing an oath, not 
agreeable to their own statute, are not able by their 
own law to justify my imprisonment. Pity it is, 
that any Christian prince should be drawn to follow 
his affections and flexible counsel, and by a weak 
clergy, lacking grace; for want of which they stand 
weakly to their learning, and so shamefully self- 
abuse themselves." VV hich words coming to the 
councils ears, they, espying their oversight, caused 
another statute to be enacted, with all these condi- 
tions.* 

We shall see by the interrogatories hereafter put 
to Sir^Thomas, that he had found means "by di- 

* In the session wliich begnn on the 3d of November [1534] , 
an act was passed (26. H. VIII c. 2.J which ratifii-s aud pro 
f esses to recite the form of oath promulgated on the day of ttie 
proro<Tation, and enacts that the oath above recited, shall be 
reputed to be the very oath iute.tided by the former act of suc- 
cession, though there were in fact some suhslantial and im- 
portant interpolations in the lattt-r acts, such as the words 
"most dear and entirely beloved, lawful wife, Quetu Anne," 
which tended to render that form still less acceptable than be- 
fore to the scrupulous consciences of Fisher and iMore." 

Sir J. Mackintosh. 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 297 

verse scrolls or letters" to communicate with his 
old and venerated friend, Bishop Fisher. This be- 
ing- discovered, did not fail to excite the jealous 
suspicions of his enemies, though, upon inquiry, it 
was ascertained that " the most part of the said pa- 
pers contained nothing else but comforting words 
from either to other, and declaration of the state 
they were in, in their bodies, and giving- of thanks 
for such meat and drink as the one had sent to the 
other." 

Another fellow prisoner of his was Dr. Nicholas 
Wilson, relative to whom we learn from More, that 
" he had written his highness a book of that matter 
[the divorce] from Paris." We have two letters of 
More addressed to him in the Tower, He had been 
sent there for the same reason as More, but, want- 
ing- either his fortitude or his conviction, at length 
took the oath. It appears he had contrived to g-et 
a letter conveyed to Sir Thomas, asking- his advice 
in his doubts. We have More's answer, written 
with all his usual caution on this matter, and all his 
usual benevolence. " Good master Wilson," says 
he, " I am very sorry to see you, besides the trouble 
that you be in by this imprisonment, with loss of 
your livelihood and of the comfort of your friends' 
company, fallen into such agony and vexation of 
mind, through doubts that trouble your conscience, 
to your great heaviness of mind. And so much am 
I for you, g-ood master doctor, the more sorry, as it 
lieth not in me to give you such kind of comfort as 
5^ou look for at my hand. As touching the oath, 
the causes for which I refused it no man wotteth 
what they be. For they be secret in my own con- 
science, some other, peradventure, than those that 
other men would ween, and such as I never disclosed 
to any man yet, nor ever intend to do while I live. 
Finally as I said unto you, before the oath was of- 
fered unto us, when we met in London at adventure, 
I would be no partaker in the matter. I follow 
mine own conscience, for which myself must make 
answer unto God, and leave every other man to his 



298 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

own. T find in my own life matter enough to think 
upon. I have Jived, methinks, long- enough, nor do I 
look to live much longer. I have since I came in 
the Tower, looked once or twice to have given up 
the ghost; and, in good faith, my heart waxed the 
lighter with the hope thereof. Yet forget I not that I 
have a long reckoning to give account of. But I 
put my trust in God, and in the merits of his bitter 
passion, and I beseech Him to give me the mind 
to long to be out of this world and to be with Him. 
I beseech him to set your heart at rest, as may be 
his pleasure, and for the weal of your soul, I trust 
also it ma)?- be his pleasure to incline the king's 
noble mind to be gracious and favorable to you and 
me both, since we are both of a true mind to him. 
And if the pleasure of God be of either of us other- 
wise to dispose, I need give you no advice. But 
for myself, I must humbly beseech the God of mer- 
cy and of all consolation to give me grace to con- 
form my mind to his high pleasure, that after the 
troublous storm of this my tempestuous time, his 
mercy may conduct me into the cairn sure haven of 
his bliss, and, of his further pleasure, all my ene- 
mies too, if I have any. For our Lord's sake, good 
master Wilson, pray for me, for I pray for you 
daily. Comfort yourself by remembering God's 
great mercy, and the king's accustomed goodness. 
And, by my troth, 1 think that all his grace's coun- 
cil favor you in their hearts. I pray you pardon 
my scribbling, for, of all things, I cannot endure to 
write as I did sometime." He concludes with a hint 
in Latin, needful within the walls which held hirn 
and his friend, to " send him this rude billet again, 
quia quanquam niJiilinest tnali, tamen prope tertium 
■minidrum nuh'w rescire^ (because though it contains 
nothing of evil, I am unwilling it should come into 
the hands of a third person) 

When More afterwards learned, that the Dr. had 
taken the oath, he wrote him the following note, 
which does honor to his head and his heart. 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 299 

My good Doctor — Our Lord be your comfort. 
And whereas I perceive by sundry means that you 
have promised to swear the oath, I beseech our 
Lord give you the air of good luck. I never gave 
any man counsel to the contrary in my days, nor 
ever used any ways to put my scruple in other folks' 
conscience concerning the matter. And whereas 1 
perceive that you would gladly know what I intend 
to do, you wot well, that I told you when we were 
both abroad, that I would therein neither know 
your mind, nor any man's else; nor you, nor any 
man else should know mine. For I would be no 
partaker therein with any man, but leaving every 
man to his own conscience, I will, with God's 
grace, follow my own. To swear against my con- 
science, were to the peril of my soul; and to swear 
what my mind shall be to morrow, I cannot, not be- 
ing sure, for whether I shall finally have the grace 
to do according to my conscience hangeth in God's 
goodness and not in mine, to whom I beseech you 
heartily to remember me in your devout prayers, 
and I shall, and daily do remember you in mine, 
such as they be. And so long as my poor short 
life shall last, any thing that I have, your part shall 
be therein." 

In the meantime, various attempts still continued 
to be made to cajole More into a compliance with 
the royal wish. Crumwell had several interviews 
with him, in one of which he assured him that 
the king w^as still his good master, and did not wish 
to press his conscience. "The lords commission- 
ers," we quote Sir J. Mackintosh, " went twice to 
the Tower to tender the oath to him. But neither he 
nor Fisher would advance farther than their original 
declaration of perfect willingness to maintain the 
settlement of the crown, which, being a matter pure- 
ly political, was within the undisputed competence 
of parliament. They refused to include in their 
oath any other matter, on account of their scruples 
of conscience, which they forbore to particularise, 



300 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

lest they might thereby furnish their enemies with 
a pretext for representing their defence as a new 
crime. As to their real ground, which was, that it 
would be insincere in them to declare upon oath, 
that they believed the king's marriage with Anne 
to be lawful; they might, by the statement of that 
ground in defending themselves against a charge of 
misprison of treason, have incurred the penalties of 
high treason. 

The first of these visits of the lords ccmmission- 
ers is thus described by More in a letter to his 
daughter Margaret. 

Our Lord bless you: — My dearly beloved daugh- 
ter, I doubt not but by reason of the king's council- 
lors resorting hither in this time in which (our lord 
be their comfort) these fathers of the Charterhouse, 
and master Reynolds of Sion be now judged to 
death for treason (whose matters and cause I know 
not) may happen to put you in trouble and fear of 
mind concerning me being here prisoner, especially 
for that it is not unlikely that you have heard that I 
was brought before the council here myself, I have 
thought it necessary to advertise you of the very 
truth, to think that you should neither conceive more 
hope than the matter giveth, lest upon another turn 
it might agreve your heaviness: nor more grief 
and fear than the matter giveth on the other side. 
Wherefore shortly ye shall understand that on Fri^ 
day the last day of April in the afternoon, master 
lieutenant came in here unto me, and showed me 
that master secretary would speak with me, where- 
upon I shifted my gown, and went out with master 
lieutenant into the gallery to him, where I met many, 
some known, and some unknown in the way. And 
in conclusion coming into the chamber where his 
mastership sat with master attorney, master solici- 
tor, master Beydl, and master doctor Tregonwell, I 
was offered to sit down with them, which in no wise 
I would. Whereupon master secretary shewed un- 
to me that he doubted not but that I had by such 
friends as hither had resorted to me, seen the new 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 301 

Statutes made at the last sitting of the parliament, 
Whereunto I answered; yea verily. Howbeit, as 
there was little need for me to bestow much time 
upon them, I therefore redelivered the book shortly, 
and the effect of the statutes I never marked, nor 
studied to put in remembrance. Then he asked 
me whether I had not read the^^rs^ statute of them, 
of the king being head of the church. Whereunto I 
answered, yes. Then his mastership declared unto 
me, that, since it was by act of parliament ordained, 
that his highness and his heirs be, and ever of right 
have been, and perpetually should be, supreme head 
of the church of England under Christ, the king's 
pleasure was, that those of his council there assem- 
bled should demand my opinion, and w^hat my mind 
was therein. Whereunto 1 answered, that, in good 
faith, I had well trusted that the king's highness 
would never have commanded any such question to 
be demanded of me, considering that I ever from 
the beginning, well and truly from time to time 
declared my mind unto his highness: and, since that 
time (I said), unto your mastership, master secretary, 
also, both by my mouth and by writing. And now 
1 have in good faith discharged my mind of all such, 
matters, and neither will dispute kings' titles nor 
popes'; but that the king's true faithful subject 1 
am, and will be, and daily I pray for him, and all 
his, and for j^ou all that are of his honorable coun- 
cil, and for all the realm. And otherwise than this, 
I never intend to meddle. Whereunto master se- 
cretary answered, that he thought this manner of 
answer should not satisfy nor content the king's 
highness, but that his grace would exact a more 
full answ^er. And his mastership added thereunto, 
that the king's highness was a prince, not of rigor, 
but of mercy and pity. And though he had found 
obstinacy at some time in any of his subjects, yet 
when he should find them at any other time con- 
formable and submit themselves, his grace would 
show mercy: and that concerning myself, his high- 
ness would be glad to see me take such comfortable 
26 



302 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

ways, as I might be abroad in the world again 
among other men, as I have been before. Where- 
unto I shortly (after the inward affection of my 
mind) answered for a very truth, that I would never 
meddle with the world again, to have the world 
given me. And to the remnant of the matter, I an- 
swered in effect as before, showing that I had fully 
determined with myself, neitherto study nor meddle 
with any matter of this world, but that my whole 
study should be upon the passion of Christ, and 
mine own passage out of this world. Upon this I 
was commanded to go forth for a while, and after 
was called in again. At which time master secretary 
said unto me, that, though I were a prisoner con- 
demned to perpetual prison, yet I was not thereby 
discharged of mine obedience and allegiance unto 
the king's highness. And thereupon he demanded of 
me, whether I thought that the king's grace might 
not exact of me such things as are contained in the 
statutes, and upon like pains as he might upon 
other men. Whereto I answered that I would not 
say the contrary. Whereunto he said, that like- 
wise as the king's highness would be gracious to 
them that he found conformable, so his grace would 
follow the course of his laws toward such as he 
shall find obstinate. And his mastership said far- 
ther, that my demeanor in that matter was a thing, 
that, of likelihood, made others so stiff therein as 
they be. Whereto 1 answered, that I gave no man 
occasion to hold any point one or other, nor ever 
gave any man advice or counsel therein, one way or 
other. And for conclusion, I could no farther go, 
whatsoever pain should come thereof. I am (quoth 
I) the king's true faithful subject and daily beads- 
man, and pray for his highness and all his and all 
the realm. I do nobody harm, I say no harm, I 
think no harm, but wish every body good. And if 
this be not enough to keep a man alive, in good faith 
I long not to live. Indeed I am dying already, and 
have, since I came here, been diverse times in the 
case that I thought to die within one hour. And I 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 303 

thank our Lord, I was never sorry for it, but rather 
sorry when I saw the pain past. And therefore my 
poor body is at the king's pleasure. Would to God 
my death might do him good! After this master 
secretary said; Well, we find no fault in that statute: 
find you any in any of the other statutes after? 
Whereto 1 answered, sir, whatsoever thing should 
seem to me other than good, in any of the other 
statutes, or in that statute either, I would not declare 
what fault I found, nor speak thereof. Whereunto 
his mastership said full gently, that of anything that 
I had spoken there should no advantage be taken. 
And whether he said farther that there was none to 
be taken, I am not well remembered. But he said 
that report should be made unto the king's high- 
ness, and liis gracious pleasure known. Where- 
upon I was delivered again to master lieutenant, who 
was then called in. And so was I by master lieu- 
tenant brought again into my chamber. And here 
am I yet in such case as I was, neither better nor 
worse. That which shall follow lieth in the hand of 
God, whom I beseech to put in the king's grace's 
mind, that thing that may be to his high pleasure, 
and in mine, to mind only the weal of my soul, 
with little regard of my body, and you with all 
yours, and my wife and all my children, and all our 
friends, both bodily and ghostly heartily well to 
fare. And 1 pray you, and all them pray forme, and 
take no thought whatsoever shall happen me. For 
I verily trust in the goodness of God, that, seem it 
never so evil to this world, it shall in another world 
be for the best. You loving Father, 

THOMAS MORE, Knight. 

Margaret is ever the faithful depository of her 
father's counsels, and he sends her a minute account 
of his second visit from the commissioners, who had 
been sent on the same hopeless errant as before. 

Our Lord bless you and all yours: — Forasmuch 
(dearly beloved daughter) as it is likely that you 



304 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

either have heard, or shortly shall hear, that the 
counsel were here this day, and that I was before 
them, I have thought it necessary to send you word 
how the matter standeth. And verily to be short, I 
perceive little difference between this time and the 
last. For as far as I can see, the whole purpose is, 
either to drive me to say precisely the one way, or 
else precisely the other. Here sat my lord of Can- 
terbury, my lord chancellor, my lord of Suffolk, my 
lord of Wiltshire, and master secretary. And after 
my coming, master secretary made rehearsal in what 
wise he had reported unto the king's highness, M^iat 
had been said by his grace's council to me, and what 
had been answered by me to them, at mine other 
being before them here last. Which thing his 
mastership rehearsed in good faith very well, as 1 
knowledged and confessed, and heartily thanked him 
therefor. Whereupon he added thereunto, that the 
king's highness was nothing content nor satisfied 
with mine answer, but thought that, by my demean- 
or, I had been occasion of much grudge and harm 
in the realm, and that I had an obstinate mind and 
evil towards him, and that my duty was, being his 
subject (and so he had sent them now in his name 
upon mine allegiance to command me) to make a 
plain and a terminate answer, whether 1 thought 
the statute lawful or not. And that I should either 
knowledge and confess it lawful, that his highness 
should be supreme head of the church of England, 
or else utter plainly my malignity. Whereto 1 an^ 
swered, that I had no malignity and therefore could 
none utter. And as to the matter I could none other 
answer make than 1 had before made, which answer 
his mastership had there rehearsed. Very heavy I 
v/as that the king's highness should have any such 
opinion of me. Howbeit if there were one that had 
informed his highness many evil things of me that 
were untrue, to which his highness for the time 
gave credence, I would be very sorry that he would 
have that opinion of me the space of one day. How-^ 
belt if I were sure that other should come on the 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 305 

morrow, by whom his grace should know the truth 
of mine innocency, I should in the meanwhile 
comfort myself with consideration of that. And 
likewise now, though it be great heaviness to me, 
that his highness hath such opinion of me for the 
while, yet have I no remedy to help it, but only to 
comfort myself with this consideration, that I know 
very well that the time shall come when God shall 
declare my truth toward his grace before him and 
all the world. And whereas it might happily seem 
to be but small cause of comfort, because I might 
take harm here first in the meanwhile, I thanked 
God that my case was such here in this matter, 
through the clearness of mine own conscience, that 
though I might have pain, I could not have harm. 
For a man may in such a case lose his head and 
have no harm. For I w^as very sure that 1 had no 
corrupt aifection, but that I had always from the 
beginning truly used myself, looking first upon 
God, and next upon the king, according to the les- 
son that his highness taught me at my first com- 
ing to his noble service, the most virtuous lesson 
that ever prince taught his servant, whose high- 
ness to have of me now such opinion is my great 
heaviness. But I have no means as I said to help 
it, but only comfort myself in the meantime with 
the hope of that joyful day, in which my trouble 
toward him shall be well known. And in this mat- 
ter further 1 could not go, nor other answer thereto 
could I make. To this it was said by my lord 
chancellor and master secretary both, that the king 
might by his laws compel me to make a plain an- 
swer thereto, either the one way or the other. 

Whereto I answ^ered, that 1 would not dispute 
the king's authority, what his highness might do 
in such a case. But 1 said that verily, under cor- 
rection, it seemed to me somewhat hard. For if it 
so were that my conscience gave me against the 
statute, (wherein how ray conscience giveth me I 
make no declaration,) then 1, nothing doing nor no- 
thing saying against the statute, it was a very hard 
26* 



306 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

thing to compel me to say, either precisely with it 
against my conscience to the loss of my soul, or 
precisely against it to the destruction of my body. 
To this master secretary said, that I had ere this 
when I was chancellor, examined heretics, and 
thieves, and other malefactors, and gave me a great 
praise above my deserving in that behalf. And he 
said that I then, as he thought, or at least the 
bishops, did use to examine heretics, whether they 
believed the pope to be head of the church, and 
used to compel them to make a precise answer 
thereto. And why should not then the king, since 
it is a law made here that his grace is head of the 
church here, compel men to answer precisely to the 
law here, as they did then concerning the PopeT I 
answered and said, that I protested that I intended 
not to defend my part, or stand in contention. But 
I said there was a difference between those two 
cases; because that, at that time, as well here as else- 
where through the corps of Christendom, the Pope's 
power was recognised for a devout thing: which 
seemeth not like a thing agreed in this realm, and 
the contrary taken for truth m other realms. Where- 
to master secretary answered, that they were all 
well burned for the denying of that, as they be 
beheaded for the denying of this; and there was 
as good reason to compel them to make precise 
answer to the ^one as to the other. Whereto I an- 
swered, that, since in this case, a man is not by a 
law in one realm so bound in his conscience, where 
there is a law of the whole corps of Christendom 
to the contrary in matter touching belief, as he is 
by a law ot the whole corps, though there happen 
to be made in some places a law local to the con- 
trary, the reasonableness or the unreasonableness in 
binding a man to precise answer, standeth not in 
the respect or difference between heading and burn- 
ing, but because of the difference in charge of con- 
science, the difference standing between heaven and 
hell. Much was there answered unto this, both by 
master secretary and my lord chancellor, overlong 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 307 

to rehearse. And in conclusion they offered me an 
oath, by which I should be sworn to make true 
answer to such things as should be asked me on 
the king's behalf, concerning the king's own per- 
son. Whereto I answered, "that, verily, I had 
proposed never to swear any book-oath more while 
J lived." Then they said that I was very obstinate 
if I refused that, for every man doth it in the star 
chamber and every where. I said that was true: 
but I had not so liitle foresight, but that I might well 
conjecture what should be part of my interrogatories; 
and as good it was to refuse them at the first as af- 
terward. Whereto my lord chancellor answered, 
that he thought it but just that I should see them. 
And so they were shewed me, and they were but 
twain: the first, " whether I had seen the statute]" 
the other, " whether I believed it a lawful made 
statute or not." Whereupon I refused the oath, 
and said farther by mouth, that the first I had be- 
fore confessed: and to the secundl would make no 
answer: which was the end of our communication, 
and I was thereupon sent away. In the communi- 
cation before, it was marvelled that 1 stuck so much 
in my conscience, while at the uttermost I was not 
sure therein. Whereto 1 said, that I was very sure 
that my own conscience, so informed as it is, by such 
diligence as I have so long taken therein, may stand 
with mine own salvation. I meddle not with the 
conscience of them that think otherwise. Every 
man suo damno stat aut cadlt. I am no man's j udge. 
It was also said unto me, that if 1 had as lief be out 
of the world as in it, as I had there said, why did I 
not then speak even plain out against the statute? 
It appeared well I was not content to die, though I 
said so. Whereto I answered as the truth is, that 
I have not been a man of such holy living, as I 
might be bold to offer myself to death, lest God for 
my presumption might suffer me to fall: and there- 
fore I put not myself forward but draw back. How- 
beit, if God draw me to it himself, then trust I in 
his great mercy, that he shall not fail to give me 



308 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

grace and strength. In conclusion master secretary 
said, that he liked me this day much worse than he 
did the last time. For then he said he pittied me 
much, and now he thought I meant not well. But 
God and I both know, that I mean well, and so I 
pray God do by me. I pray you be you and mine 
other good friends of good cheer, whatsoever fall of 
me, and take no thought for me, but pray for me, as 
1 do and shall for you and all of them. 
Your tender loving Father, 

THOMAS MORE, Knight. 

When in company with his daughter, he cautious- 
ly avoided all allusions to the court, but in one of 
their conversations the name of Anne Boleyn hap^ 
pened to be mentioned. " How say they that she 
is]" said he. " In faith, father," replied Margaret, 
" never better, as they report." — " Alas! Meg^(quoth 
he) it pitieth me to think into what misery that poor 
soul shall come, and that very shortly too." 

On another occasion, he was told how Anne de- 
lighted the king with her dancing. " Well may 
it fare with her (quoth he). These sports will end 
in sorrow. Oar heads must pay for this dancing; 
let hers stand fast, I charge her!" 

In speaking of a writer who had produced a work 
in prison, an old author quaintly remarks; " for 
many years he had been obliged to seek leisure for 
his studies, now he had to seek studies for his 
leisure." This observation applies to Sir Thomas. 
All the while, says Cresacre, that More was in the 
Tower, he was not idle, but busied himself in 
writing spiritual treatises. The first is " A Dia- 
logue of Comfort against l^ibulation," which is 
supposed to pass between certain Hungarians, who 
live inconstant dread of the Turks overruning their 
country. We are informed that under the Turks 
are figured the heresiarchs of the day, "painting 
in lively colors both the danger that England 
stood in of being overwhelmed by heresy, and how 
good Catholics should prepare themselves to forfeit 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 309 

liberty, life, and estates, in a word, every thing 
most dear to man, rather than desert their faith." 
It is a voluminous effort, consisting of nearly one 
hundred and forty folio pages, but is diversified by 
much that is lively and more that is practically 
good. 

The next fruit of Move's prisonhours is a "Trea- 
tise upon the passion of Christ, after the order of 
the four Evangelists." This pious v^'ork, though 
not half finished, also extends to nearly one hun- 
dred and forty folio pages. Our good fathers v\^ere 
no niggards in their gifts; they poured forth from 
their abundance, "measure pressed down, shaken 
together, and running over into our bosom." 

We have also a "Treatise on receiving the Bi.es- 
SED Body of our Lord, sacramentally and virtually 
both," in which there is much of a practical na- 
ture, and an unction not common in that age. 

His prison writings bear the impress of the place, 
and breathe a something of the air in which they were 
composed. Among a hundred instances witness the 
following. " What should we say of a criminal, 
who, on the point of being led to the place of exe- 
cution, should desire his coat of arms to be carved 
over the prison gateT Even such is their vanity, 
who endeavor with great industry to leave monu- 
ments of their dignity in the prison of the world." 
We shall have occasion to notice each of the 
above treatises more particularly in our volume of 
Selections. 

It having been discovered that More kept up a 
communication by writing with bishop Fisher, his 
daughter Margaret, and others, it was determined 
to prevent his so doing for the future. For this pur- 
pose. Rich, then newly made the king's solicitor. 
Sir Richard Southwell, and one Palmer, servant 
to C rum well, were sent to More to take from him 
his books, papers, and writing materials.* When 

*Cresacre informs us that this visitation took place attheitme 
he was engaged m writing his Treatise on the Passion of Christ; 
nor does he forget to remark the curious coincidence, that, 



310 



SIR THOMAS MORE, 



they had packed them all into a bag-, Sir Thomas 
was observed to go about closing- the windows of 
his apartment, and when asked his meaning for so 
doing; "Oh!" said he, " when the wares are gone, 
and the tools taken away, what is to be done but to 
shut up shopl" 

We quote Sir J. Mackintosh. "Two difficulties 
occurred in reconciling- the destruction of Sir Tho- 
mas More with any form or color of law. The 
first of them consisted in the circumstance that 
the naked act of refusing- the oath was, even 
by the late statute, punishable only as a mispri- 
son; and though the concealment of treason was 
never expressly declared to be only a misprison, 
till the statute to that effect was passed under Phi- 
lip and Mary, chiefly perhaps occasioned by the 
case of More, yet it seemed strange thus to prose- 
cute him for the refusal, as an act of treason, after 
it had been positively made punishable as a 
misprison by a general statute, and after a special 
act of attainder for misprison had been passed 
against him. Both these enactments were, on 
the supposition of the refusal being indictable 
for treason, absolutely useless, and such as tended 
to make More believe that he was safe so long as 
he remained silent. The second has already been 
intimated, that he had yet said nothing that could 
be tortured into a semblance of those acts deroga- 
tory from the king's marriage, which had been made 
treason. To conquer this last difficulty. Sir Robin 
Rich, the solicitor general, undertook the infamous 
task of betraying More into some declaration, which 
mig-ht be pretended to be treasonable, in a confiden- 
tial conversation, and under pretext of familiar 
friendship." 

Calculation and contrivance were not wanting 
in effecting it. The moment in which Southwell 
and Palmer were engaged in packing up the books, 
papers, and writing materials, was that adroitly 

when the searchers entered the room, he was commenting 
upon those very v/ords of the Evangelist; and they laid hands 
upon him, and held him. 



HIS LIFE AND TMES. 311 

Selected for the perpetration of this outrage against 
justice and every social law. It was supposed that 
More, whodoated upon his books, would be thrown 
off his guard, and become communicative in the ex- 
citement of the moment, while the persons appa- 
rently busily occupied in the packing-, could conve- 
niently overhear all that passed and be brought for- 
ward as witnesses to confirm Rich's story. But the 
equanimity of Sir Thomas foiled his enemies now, 
as it had so often done before. Instead of the ex- 
citement which they had calculated upon, More's 
ever-ready humor came to his relief. Frightful as 
the whole of this transaction is, it is perfectly in cha- 
racter with many other acts of Henry 's reign, and may 
easily be accredited to the miserable tools of his pow- 
er. What was the success of this flagitious attempt, 
will be seen in the subsequentaccount of More's trial. 
Repeated aggressions tend to shake the firmest 
virtue, and to awaken in the bosom a sense of ven- 
geance for wrongs received; like the lees in wine, 
this spirit serves to ripen and improve our virtues, 
so long as it is kept settled and subdued. From 
the following Reflections found among his papers, 
may it not be inferred, that More, in moments when 
he was sore beset on a point of conscience, upon 
which, if the expression may be allowed, he pecu- 
liarly piqued himself, felt the duty of checking this 
rebellious tendency of our nature? 

Mefledions written in the Tower. 
" Bear no malice nor ill-will to any man living; 
for, either the man is good, or naught: if he be 
good, and I hate him, then am I naught; if he be 
naught, either he shall amend, and die good, and go 
to God; or abide naught, and die naught, and so be 
lost. If he be saved, he shall not fail, if I be saved 
too, as I trust to be, to love me very heartily, and 
I shall then love him likewise. And why, then, 
should I now hate one, who shall hereafter love 
me for evermorel and why should I now be an 
enemy to him, with whom I shall, in time coming, 



312 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

be coupled in eternal friendship] — On the other 
side, if he shall continue naught and be lost, that is 
so terrible and eternal a sorrow to him, that I should 
think myself a cruel wretch, if I did not now rather 
pity his pain, than malign his person. Should 
any one say, that we may, with a good conscience, 
wish an evil man harm, lest he should do harm to 
such as are innocent and good, I will not now dis- 
pute upon that point, for the matter requires to be 
more considered than I can now conveniently write, 
having no other pen than a coal. But, verily, thus 
will 1 say — that I will give counsel to every good 
friend of mine, if he be put in such a room as to 
punish an evil man, who lieth in his charge by rea- 
son of his office, at all events, to leave the desire of 
punishing unto God, and unto such folk as are so 
grounded in charity and cleave so fast to God, that 
no secret shrewd cruel affection, under the cloak of 
just and virtuous zeal, can creep in, and undermine 
them. But let us that are no better than men of a 
mean sort ever pray for such merciful amendment in 
others, as our conscience sheweth us we have need 
of in ourselves." — How just and generous the na- 
ture, that, in moments so trying, could so readily 
arrive at conclusions like these! 

After the severe and arbitrary visitation we have 
described, all More's future writings and communi- 
cations were on such scraps of paper as he had the 
good fortune to procure, and his writing material was 
a coal. "The marvel is," says Rastell, "how in the 
world, amidst so many hindrances, he could write 
so much, destitute of books, and other helps, and 
with nothing but a coal for his pen." But he adds — 
and there is beauty and poetry in the thought — 
" like the coal that Isaiah of old took from the altar, 
this at once served to purify and impart a vivifying 
influence." 

Sir Thomas is merry upon this, as upon every 
other misfortune of his. Speaking of the pleasure 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 313 

and comfort he took in writing to his daughter Mar- 
garet, hesays in one of his letters, " a whole peck of 
coal would not suffice me to do justice to her good- 
ness." 

The dreary season of winter had now set in, a 
season that falls with redoubled gloom upon the so- 
litude of a prison. More had a happy facility of 
moralising upon objects the most familiar. Look- 
ing out of his prison windows, v*^hen the roofs of the 
buildings were white with snow, — "Ah! Margaret," 
said he, "how like to the shortest winter-day is the 
prosperity of this world!" 

Nor yet was he without his hours of gaiety and 
relaxation. The old poetic spirit, which, tor so 
many years, had appeared to be absorbed by the 
severer duties of the law, and afterwards by the 
weighty responsibilities of higher employs, sent 
fortti some short-lived gleams, like the northern 
corruscations of the season. " Two short Ballads, 
which Sir Thomas made for his pastime, while he 
was prisoner in the Tower," are preserved in Ras- 
tell's edition of his works. We do not strongly 
Vouch for their poetic excellence, but, such as they 
are, the reader shall have them. 

With an elegant poet, who, at a later period, was 
an inmate of these walls, their author could exclaim: 

Stone walls do not a prison make, 

Nor iron bars a cage; 
Minds innocent and quiet, take 

That for a hermitage.— iot-eZace. 

The first of these Ballads is said to be to the tune 
of " Lewis the lost lover." 

Eye-flattering Fortune! look thou ne'er so fair, 

Or ne'er so pleasantly begin to smile, 
As though thou vvouldst my ruin all repair, 

During my life thou shalt not me beguile; 

Trust shall I God to enter in erewhile. 
His haven of havens sure and uniform: — 
After a calm I still expect a storm.* 

* Roper tells us that this w^as written down witli More's usu- 
al pencil of coal, on Crumwell's quitting the Tower, after his 
unsuccessful endeavor to talk him into a subscription to theoath. 

27 



314 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

Second Ballad to the tune of "Davy the Dicer." 

Long was I, Lady Luck, your serving-man, 
And now have lost again all that I gat; 

When, therefore I think of you now and then, 
And in my mind remember this and that. 
Ye may not blame me, though I shrew your cat; 

In faith I ble-s you, and a thousand times. 

For lending me some leisure to make rhymes. 

During" one of these days, " there gained admis- 
sion to him alight-headed courtier, talking of no se- 
rious matter, but merely urging him to change his 
mind." More contrived to disencumber himself of 
the man's importunities, in his usual whimsical way. 
" I once again recommend you," said the intruder, 
" to change your mind." — " Well, 1 have even done 
so," said Sir Thomas, as if suddenly recollecting 
himself. Away posted the courtier to the palace 
full of this piece of important news, and all anxi- 
ety to pour it into the royal ear. Without loss of 
time, back came a message to Sir Thomas, congra- 
tulating him on this happy change in his views, and 
requesting a further explanation of his intentions. 
Ridiculous as that explanation wq.s, Sir Thomas 
w^s obliged to state in his self defence, that the 
words he had used merely implied that he had 
changed his mind relative to being shaved that 
morning, and that this busy body had misunder- 
stood his meaning. The next time the too officious 
courtier came into the royal presence, he was not 
received with a smile. 

March, 1535. — Early in this month, we find the 
two following notes addressed by Sir Thomas to his 
beloved Margaret. 

Mine own good daughter— Our Lord be thanked, 
I am in good health of body, and in good quiet of 
mind, and of worldly things I no more desire than 
I have. I beseech him to make you all merry in the 
hope of heaven. As to such things as 1 somewhat 
longed to talk with you all, concerning the world to 
come, our Lord put them into your minds, as I 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 315 

trust He doth, and better too by his Holy Spirit. 
May he bless you and preserve you all. 

Written with a coal., by your tender loving father, 
who in his poor prayers forgetteth none of you all, 
nor your babes, nor your nurses, nor your husbands, 
nor your good husbands' shrewd wives, nor your 
father's shrewd wife neither, nor our other friends. 
And thus fare ye heartily well for lack of paper. 
THOMAS MORE, Knight. 

On another slip of paper, Rastell found the fol- 
lowing, written also with his coal, and prepared no 
doubt to be sent by a fitting opportunity. 

Our Lord keep me continually true, faithful, and 
plain; to the contrary whereof, I beseech him heart- 
ily never to suffer me to live. For, as for long life, 
as I have often told thee, Meg, I neither look for, 
nor long for, and am well content to go, if God call 
me hence to-morrow. And I thank our Lord, I 
know no person living that I would should have one 
fillip for my sake, of which mind I am more glad 
than of all the world besides. 

Recommend me to your shrewd Will, and mine 
other good sons, and to John Harris, my friend, and 
yourself knovveth to whom. else; and to shrewd 
wife above all; and God preserve you all; and make 
and keep you his servants. T. M. 

May 5th — Proof was soon given that the late 
statute was not intended to remain a dead letter. 
Three leading ecclesiastics, priors of the principal 
religious orders, John Houghton of the Charter- 
house, London, Augustine Webster, of Axeholme, 
and Robert Laurence, of Belleval, had waited on 
Crumwell to explain their conscientious objections 
to the recognition to the king^s supremacy. Instead 
of respecting the confidence which this act of theirs 
bespoke, and admiring the dignity of their comport- 
ment, he from his own Aowse committed them to the 
Tower; and contended at their trial, that such ob- 



316 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

jections by " depriving the sovereign of the dig- 
nity, style, and name of his royal estate," amounted 
to the crime of high treason. The jury, however, 
could not bring themselves to view the matter in 
this light, persuaded that men of such acknowledged 
learning and virtue could not be guilty of an offence 
so construable by law. When Crumwell sent to 
hasten their decision, they demanded another day 
to deliberate; and though a second message threat- 
ened them with the punishment reserved for the pri- 
soners, they refused to return a verdict for the crown. 
Surprised at obstinacy so unusual, the minister 
visited them himself, and argued the case with them 
in private; nor was it before he had called intimi- 
dation to the aid of his arguments, that he could 
extort from their reluctance a verdict of guilty. 
Five days later, the three priors, together with 
Reynolds, a monk of the monastery of vSion,* suffer- 
ed the barbarous sentence of the law at Tyburn. 

Margaret was with her father on the morning that 
these four victims were led from the Tower to the 
place of execution; and gazed with him on the me- 
lancholy spectacle from the windows of his apart- 
ment. " Look yonder, Meg," said he; " dost thou 
not see that those blessed fathers are gomg as cheer- 
fully to their deaths, as bridegrooms to their mar- 
riage. And hereby, mine own good daughter, thou 
mayst see what a great difference there is between 
such as have spent the whole of their days in a 
strict and penitential life, and such as have lived a 
wretched worldly life, as thy poor father hath done, 
consuming their time in ease, and in things little 
conducive to salvation. Considering their long life 
'of penance and mortification, God will not suffer 



* The sufferings of these and other Carthusian monks, are 
faithfully recorded in Chancey's Historia aliquot vostri smculi 
Martyrum, published at iVientz in ]550, and illustrated by many 
rare portraits. Cardinal Pole was we 1 acquainted w.«th Rey- 
nolds, and bears tlie following,' testimony to his virtue and ac- 
complishments; "He was a man of enlightened piety, and his 
mind was stored with a knowledge of all the liberal arts, whicli 
he had obtained from the best Hources."— Z)c/eji. Eccles. p. fc4. 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 317 

them longer to tarry in this vale of misery, but 
taketh them speedily hence, to the fruition of his 
everlasting deity. Whereas, thy silly father, Meg, 
who, like a vi^retched caitiff, hath passed the M'hole 
course of his life in a worldly and sinful sort, God 
thinketh him not worthy to come so soon to that 
eternal felicity, bat leaveth him here in the world to 
be farther plagued and vexed by its care and tur- 
moil." 

Of that " care and turmoil" the closing scene 
was fast approaching. On the first of June,* 1535, 
after the defeat of every attempt to practise on his 
firmness. More was brought to trial. To make the 
greater impression, he was conducted on foot 
through the most frequented streets, from the Tow- 
er to Westminster Hall. He appeared in a coarse 
woollen gown: his hair which had become gray 
during the course of his imprisonment, his face, 
which, though cheerful, was pale and emaciated, 
and the staff with which he supported his feeble 
steps, announced the length and rigor of his con- 
finement. A general feeling of horror and sympathy 
ran through the spectators. 

To use the language of Sir J. Mackintosh, " it will 
scarcely be doubted, that no such culprit had stood 
at any European bar for a thousand years. It is 
rather from caution than from necessity, that the 
ages of Roman domination are excluded from the 
comparison. It does not seem, that, in any moral 
respect, Socrates himself could claim a superiority." 

Many of the spectators must have been touched 
by the circumstance of seeing him placed as a pri- 
soner at the bar of that court, in which he had for- 
merly presided as judge with universal applause. 

He was tried, probably by special commission, 
before the following judges: 

Chancellor Audley, Chief-justice Fitzjames, Sir 

* The 6th of May is the day assigned to thfi trial by Mack- 
intosh, hut as boih Rasteil and Cresacre agree in their st.'tte- 
merit tliat about the space of a month intervened between 
More's trial and execuiion, Linsard's is the probable date. 

27* 



318 SIR THOMAS MORE^ 

John Baldwin, Sir Richard Leicester, Sir John 
Port, Sir John Spelman, Sir Walter Luke, Sir An- 
thony Fitzherbert. The jury (for their names, 
says Cay ley, deserve to be recorded for their infa- 
my) were 

Sir Thomas Palmer, Sir Thomas Peirt, George 
Lovel, Esq., Thomas Burbage, Esq., GeofFery 
Chamber, Gent., Edward Stockmore, Gent., Wil" 
liam Brown, Gent., Jasper Luke, Gent., Thomas 
Billington, Gent., John Parnel, Gent., Richard Bel-- 
lamy, Gent., George Stoakes, Gent. 

Henry dreaded the effect of More's eloquence and 
authority: and, therefore, to distract his attention and 
overpower his memory, the indictment had been 
framed of enormous length and unexampled exagge^ 
ration, multiplying the charges without measure, 
and clothing each charge with a load of words, be- 
neath which it was difficult to discover the meaning, 
As soon as it had been read, the chancellor, who was 
assisted by the Duke of Norfolk, thus addressed the 
prisoner. " Mr. More, you now see how grievously 
you have offended his majesty. Yet he is so mer-^ 
ciful, that, if you will lay aside your obstinacy and 
change your opinion, we hope you may obtain par-^ 
don of his highness." To this continues More's 
grandson, "the stout champion of Christ replied; 
— ' Most noble lords, I have great cause to thank 
your honors for this your courtesy. But I beseech 
Almighty God, that 1 may continue in the mind 
I am in, through his grace, unto death.' " 

After this he was suffered to speak in his own 
defence, and began as follovt^s: '' When I think on 
the length of my accusation, and the heinous mat- 
ters that are laid to my charge, I have cause to fear 
lest my memory and wit both, which are greatly 
decayed, and the bodily weakness which 1 sutler 
in consequence of my imprisonment, should not en- 
able me to answer these tilings on a sudden, in the 
manner I should wish." 

This allusion to his infirmity of body, which was 
but too evident from the effort with which he sup-? 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 319 

ported himself on his staff, had its effect. A chair 
was ordered liim, and having seated himself he thus, 
proceeded. 

" There be four divisions, if I mistake not, of this, 
my indictment; to each of which I. purpose, God 
willing, to answer in order. To the First, — that I 
have been an enemy of stubborn mind, to the king's 
second marriage: 1 candidly confess that I always 
told the king my opinion therein, as my conscience 
dictated to me. This dictate of my conscience I 
was neither inclined to conceal from his highness,, 
nor ought I in duty to have done so; and so far am 
I from thinking myself guilty of treason on this ac- 
count, that, on the contrary, when asked a question 
of such moment by my prince, whereupon the 
quietness of the kingdom depended, had I basely 
flattered him against my own conscience, and not. 
uttered the truth as I thought, then might I worthily 
have been accounted a most wicked subject, and a 
perfidious traitor to God and my king. And if by 
my honest speech I offended his highness, — if to 
tell one's miud plainly, when our prince asketh us 
be an offence, even then I presume that 1 have al- 
ready been sufficiently punished for this fault, with 
most grievous afflictions, loss of my goods, privation 
of my family, and severe imprisonment, having been 
shut up already nearly these fifteen months. 

" My Second head of accusation is, that I have 
transgressed the statute made in the last parliament. 
For that I, when a prisoner, and twice examined 
b}^ the lords of the council, being of a malignant, 
perfidious, obstinate, and traitorous mind, did re- 
fuse to disclose unto them my opinion as to whether 
the king were supreme head of the church, or not; 
but that I answered them, that this law whether 
just or unjust, affected not me, and more particular- 
ly as I enjoyed no benefice from the church. I, 
however, protested at the time, that I had never 
said, or done anything against it, nor can any word 
or action of mine be produced to make me culpable. 
Yea, this I confess was the speech that I then made 



320 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

to their honors — that for the future I wished to 
think of nothing else, but of the bitter passion of 
our Blessed Saviour, and of my passage out of this 
miserable world. I wish no harm to any man; 
and if this will not keep me alive, then have I no 
desire to live. — I own I made this answer, but surely 
such w^ords could not transgress any law, or incur any 
crime of treason; for neither this statute, nor any 
law in this v/orld can punish a man for holding his 
peace. Laws can only punish words or deeds: 
God alone can judge our secret thoughts." - 

Here the king's attorney interrupted him, and re- 
marked, that even though they had not one word or 
deed to object against him, yet that they had his 
silence, which was an evident sign of a malicious 
mind; because no dutiful subject, being lawfully 
asked this question, would refuse to answer it. 

" My silence," replied More, " is no sign of any 
malicious mind in me, as the king can testify by my 
past dealings; neither can it convict any man of a 
breach of your laws. It is a maxim among the 
civilians and canonists,— Qt«' tacet cunsentire vide- 
tur — who is silent seemeth to consent. As to 
what you say, that no good subject will refuse to 
aiiswer directly, verily I am of opinion that it is the 
duty of such a one, unless he would be a bad Chris- 
tian, rather to obey God than man; to be more soli- 
citous not to offend his conscience, than of any 
thing else in the world, especially when his con- 
science neither causes scandal, nor any offence to 
his prince or country, as is the case with me. For 
I solemnly aihrm, that I never opened this con- 
science of mine to any mortal living. 

" I now come to the Third head of my indictment, 
whereby I am accused, that I maliciously attempted, 
traitorously endeavored, and perfidiously practised 
against the said statute, because, while in the Tow- 
er, I wrote eight sundry packets of letters to the 
Bishop of Rochester, whereby I persuaded him to 
break the same law, and induced him to the like 
obstinacy. I earnestly desire that these letters may 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 321 

be produced and read; for they will either acquit 
me or convict me of falsehood. But since you sdj 
that tiie bishop burnt them all, I will here tell the 
truth oftiie wiiole matter: some were only of private 
matters as about our old friendship, and acquain- 
tance; one of them was an answer to an inquiry of 
his, what reply I had made to the commissioners 
who came to examine me in prison. The only 
answer I made to this was, — That I had already 
settled my own conscience: let him settle his to 
bis own likinof. As God is my witness, and as 
I look to him for the salvation of my soul, this was 
my only answer. All this I trust is no breach of 
3'our law. 

"The Fourth and last crime, alleged against 
me is, that, when examined in the Tower, I said 
that this law was like a two-edged sword, for in con- 
senting thereto, I should endanger my soul; in re- 
fusing it, 1 should lose ray life. As Bishop Fisher 
made the like an>wer, it may, as you affirm, be evi- 
dently gathered that we evidemly conspired in this 
matter. I reply that this answer was but condition- 
al on my part. I said in either case there was dan- 
ger, whether I approved or disapproved the law: and 
therefore it was like a two edged-sword, which 
wielded cutteth both ways; and it seemed a hard 
thing thai it should be extended to myself who had 
never contradicted it by word or deed. These were 
my words: how the bishop answered I know not. 
If his answer was like mine, it proceeded not from 
any conspiracy of ours, but from an analogy arising 
from our similar minds and pursuits. 

" To conclude, I unfeignediy avouch that I never 
spoke a word against this law to any mortal living; 
although, perhaps, reports to the contrary may have 
been made to the king's most merciful majesty." 

Though no further answer was made to Sir Tho- 
mas by the king's attorney, the word malice, says 
Cresacre, was in the mouth of the whole court, but 
no man could produce either word or deed to prove 
it. The evidence, indeed, of any circumstances at- 



322 SIR THOMAS MORE. 

tendant on the refusal in question, strong enough to 
aggravate it into an act of treason, must have been 
felt to be defective; for the prosecutors were reduced 
to the necessity of examining Rich, the solicitor 
general to prove circumstances of which he could 
have had no knowledge, without the foulest treach- 
ery on his part. Rich had the hardihood to declare, 
upon oath, that, on occasion of his proceeding, by 
orders, to the Tower, to take possession of More's 
books, papers, &c., and while Sir Richard South- 
well and Mr. Palmer were engaged in packing up 
the same, that he had asked More, in the way of 
familiar conversation, if an act of parliament had 
made Rich king. More would not acknowledge him. 
Sir Thomas said, "Yes, sir, that I would." — "If 
they declared me pope, would you acknowledge 
me?" — "In the first case, I have no doubt about 
temporal governments; but suppose the parliament 
should make a law that God should not be God, 
would you then, Mr. Rich, say that God should not 
be GodT' — " No," says Rich, " no parliament could 
make such a lavv^." Rich went on to swear, that 
Sir Thomas More added, " No more could the par- 
liament make the king supreme head of the church." 
More denied the latter part of Rich's evidence alto- 
gether; which is, indeed, inconsistent with the whole 
tenor of his language. 

Roper has preserved the answer of More on this 
occasion in his very words, as reported to him by 
credible eye-witnesses. After looking for a mo- 
ment upon Rich, "with a countenance more in pity 
than in anger," he turned to the bench, and stretch- 
ing forth his arm, said in a tone of much earnest- 
ness:— " My Lords and Gentlemen, if I were a man 
who did not regard an oath, I need not, as is well 
known, stand in this place; nor appear at this time, 
nor in this case, as an accused person. And if this 
oath of yours, Mr. Rich, be true, then do I pray that 
I may never see God in theface^ which, were it other- 
wise, I would not say, were it to win the whole 
world!" 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 323 

Here More gave the court the true account of his 
conversation with Rich in the Tower; and feeling 
warmed by the interests of truth, he seemed, for a 
moment, to forego the habitual gentleness of his 
nature, and exposed the profligacy of Rich in words 
of memorable severity. 

" In good faith, Mr. Rich, I am far sorrier for your 
perjury, than for mine own peril. And this under- 
stand — that neither I nor any man else to my know- 
ledge, ever took you to be a man of such credit, 
that, in any matter of importance, either I, or any 
other, would at any time vouchsafe to communicate 
with you. I, as you know, have for no small while 
been acquainted with you and your conversation, 
having known you from your youth hitherto, for we 
long dwelt together in one parish, where, as your- 
self can tell — I am sorry you compel me so to say it 
—you were esteemed very light of your tongue,* 
a great dicer, and of no commendable fame. And 
so, in your house at the Temple, where hath been 
your chief bringing-up, were you likewise ac- 
counted. 

" Can it, therefore, seem likely to your honora- 
ble Lordships,-' said More, turning to the bench, for 
during the latter address he had kept his eye rivet- 
ted upon Rich, " can it seem likely that I would, in 
so weighty a matter, so unadvisedly overshoot my- 
self, as to trust Mr. Rich (a man ever reputed by 
me of but little truth, as your Lordships have just 
heard) so far above my sovereign Lord the King, or 
any of his noble counsellors, that to him I would 
utter the secrets of my conscience touching the 
king's supremacy — the especial point and only mark 
at my hands so long sought for; a thing which I 
never did, nor ever would, after the statute thereof 
made, reveal unto the king's highness himself, or to 
any of his honorable counsellors, as is not unknown 

* The following observation of More will apply here: " ^len 
rarely begin to lie a little, but they end by lying too much: a 
man's first lie he can hide in his sleeve, but his last is too great 
for the largest cloak to cover." — Answer to Tindall. 



324 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

unto your honors, who were at sundry times sent 
from his own person to the Tower to me for none 
other purpose. And what I have kept from you, 
should J. have reserved for him! Can this, in your 
judgment, my Lords, seem true, or even likely] 

"And yet, supposing I had so done, my Lords, 
as Mr. Rich hath sworn, seeing it was spoken but 
in secret familiar talk, nothing affirming, and only 
putting of cases, without other disj)leasant circum- 
stances, can that justify its being taken as spoken 
maliciously? But, where there is no malice, there 
can be no offence. And as to this, I can never think, 
my Lords, that so many worthy bishops, so many 
honorable personages, and so many other worsliip- 
ful, virtuous, wise, and learned men, as at the 
making of that law were in parliament assembled, 
ever meant to have any man punished by death, in 
W'hom there could be found no malice— taking ma- 
litia for Tnalevolentia: for if malitia be merely taken 
for sm, then is there no man can excuse himself; 
for if ive say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, 
and the truth is not in us. 

"Besides this, the manifold goodness of the' 
King's Highness himself, who hath been so many 
ways my singular good Lord, and who hath so 
dearly loved and trusted me, vouchsafing to admit 
me, even at my very first coming into his honorable 
service, to the dignity of his honorable privy coun-» 
cil, and most liberally advancing me to offices of 
great credit and worship; and finally, with the 
weighty room [place] of his grace's high chancel-- 
lor, next to his own royal person the higliest officer 
in this noble realm, so far above my qualities or me- 
rits honoring and exalting me; and for the space 
of twenty years and more showing me his continual 
favor; and (until at my own poor suit it pleased 
His Highness to discharge and disburthen me, giv- 
ing me power to bestow the residue of my life for 
providing for my soul) continuing most benignly to 
heap more and more honors upon me; — surely, all 
this, I say, His Highness' goodness continually ex- 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 325 

tended towards me, were matter sufficient to con- 
vict the slanderous surmise by this man so wrong- 
fully imagined against me." 

An address so spirited could not fail to produce 
its impression. The credit of Rich was so deeply 
wounded, that he was compelled to call Sir Richard 
Southwell and Mr. Palmer, who were present at the 
conversation, to prop his tottering evidence. The 
dignity of More's manner, the solemnity of the mo- 
ment, and the remnant of honesty that had survived 
the debasement of the courtier, awoke in them a 
sense of shame and repentance. They made an 
awkward excuse to Rich, and left the miscreant in 
his utmost need. Palmer said that " he really was 
so busy in the thrusting up of Sir Thomas's books 
into a sack, that he took no heed to their talk." — 
Southwell declared that, "'as he was appointed only 
to look to the conveying of the books, he gave no 
heed to what passed." And after this, continues 
Cresacre, Sir Thomas alleged many other reasons in 
his own defence, to the utter discredit of Rich's 
aforesaid evidence, and in proof of the clearness of 
his own conscience. 

But all would not do. The reader who has marked 
the character of Henry's reign, will already have 
anticipated the result of the trial — if indeed this 
mockery of the forms of justice may be dignified by 
such a name. He need not be told that this prince 
made his will a rule for judges and jury; that he 
sported with law and justice, and that his parliament 
so long followed his caprices with servility, that, by 
degrees, they, as well as himself, were lost to all 
sense of shame. Lord Herbert, who has painted 
this reign in as favorable colors as he was able, tells 
us that " Henry and his parliament agreed so well 
in every thing, that it plainly appears by their fre- 
quent prorogations, that he had no mind to part with 
them." These men, the following year, were not 
ashamed to choose this same Rich for their speaker, 
and he repaid the compliment by re-echoing their 
flattery and subserviency to Henry. In his speech 
28 



326 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

addressed to the throne, " he took occasion to praise 
the king for his wonderful gifts of grace and nature; 
he compared him for prudence and justice to Solo- 
mon; for strength and fortitude to Sampson; and for 
beauty and comeliness to Absalom." In reply to his 
confession that he was utterly unfit for that office — 
possibly the only truth the man ever spoke, the king 
orders the chancellor to reply, that he knoius him to 
have all the necessary qualifications. It is no un- 
equivocal sign of these times, that, instead of being 
hooted from society, this miscreant was created Lord 
Rich, and some few years later filled the chancel- 
lor's seat! Surely the great Bacon had this fact in 
view, when he was heard to exclaim:—" If this it 
is to be a chancellor, I think if the great seal lay 
upon Hounslow Heath, nobody would pick it upl" 

But we digress. The jury speedily returned vv^ith 
a verdict of Guilty. Cresacre's words are: "they 
stayed scarce one quarter of an hour, for they knew 
what the king would have them do in this case." 
The chancellor, More's immediate successor, wa& 
proceeding, as chief commissioner, with no less 
hasty servility to pronounce judgment upon him, 
when the knight, in a dignified but courteous man- 
ner, observed: " That in Ms time, it was customary 
in such a case, to ask the prisoner, before judgment, 
if he had aught to say why judgment should not 
proceed against him." The rebuke of the ex-chan- 
cellor was not unfelt; and Audley, " arresting his 
sentence, wherein he had already partly proceeded," 
demanded of Sir Thomas, what he was able to say 
in this instance to the contrary! and More, accord- 
ing to Roper, spoke as follows: 

" Forasmuch, my Lords, as this indictment is 
grounded upon an act of parliament directly repug- 
nant to the laws of God and of his Holy Church, 
the supreme government of which, or of any part 
thereof, no temporal prince may, by any law, pre- 
sume to take upon him, as rightfully belonging to 
the See of Rome, as a special prerogative granted 
by the mouth of Christ himself to St. Peter, and 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 327 

the Bishops of Rome his successors, during- the 
time that our Saviour sojourned here upon earth — 
it is, therefore, among Catholic Christians insuffi- 
cient in law, to charge any Christian man to obey 
it." 

The chancellor here repeated his favorite objec- 
tion, on which he had laid so much stress in the 
examinations in the Tower, that, since the bishops, 
universities, and men the best learned had subscribed 
to this act, it was wonderful that he alone should 
oppose them all, and argue so vehemently against it. 

" If the number of bishops and universities be so 
material, as your lordship seems to make it, that 
very circumstance is a cause why I should make 
no change in my conscience, for I doubt not that in 
the number of learned and virtuous in the world, (I 
speak not of this realm only, but of all Christendom), 
there are ten to one who are of my mind in this 
matter. But should I speak of those who are dead 
and gone, of the learned Doctors and virtuous 
Fathers, and of the many Saints that are in heaven, 
sure am I that their number is far greater, and who, 
all the while they lived, thought in this case as 1 
now think. And therefore, my lord, I think myself 
not bound to conform my conscience to the council 
of one realm, against the general consent of all 
Christendom." 

The chancellor "having bethought himself, and 
being loth to have the whole burthen of the con- 
demnation lie upon himself," asked the opinion of 
the chief-justice Fitz-James, who, with his self- 
sufficient air, and backing his words as he usually 
did with an oath, replied: " My lords all, by St. 
Gillian! I must needs confess, that, if the act of 
parliament be not unlawful, then, in my conscience, 
is the indictment not insufficient." An answer upon 
which Roper remarks, that it resembled that of the 
Scribes and Pharisees to Pilate : If this man were 
not a malefactor, we would never have delivered him 
unto you. 

The chancellor then pronounced the savage sen- 



328 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

tence of the law in cases of treason — hanging', 
drawing, and quartering. 

And now did this champion of upright principles 
exhibit a trait of character, which will be ever me- 
morable. Being, as he had before expressed it, 
" dead in law," he felt that he had no longer any 
measures to keep, and, therefore, with a bold and 
fearless countenance, he spoke as follows: 

" Well, seeing lam now condemned, God knows 
how justly, I- will freely speak out, for the disbur- 
thening of my conscience, and utter my opinion 
concerning this law. When I perceived that the 
king's pleasure was to sift out from whence the 
pope's authority was derived, I confess I studied 
seven years together to Jfind out the truth thereof. 
But I could not read in any one Doctor's writings, 
approved by the church, any one saying that 
avoucheth that a layman was, or ever could be, head 
of the church. And, as the city of London could 
not make a law against an act of parliament which 
bound the whole realm, neither could this realm 
make a particular law, incompatible with the gene- 
ral law of Christ's Universal Catholic Church. 
Nay, that it was contrary to the unrepealed statutes 
of the country, for, by Magna-Charta, it was de- 
clared: Ecdesia Jlnglicana libera sit, et haheat omnia 
jura iniegra, et libertates suas illoesas — let the Eng- 
lish Church be free, and have all its rights entire, 
and its liberties untouched. In a word, it is con- 
trary to that sacred oath which the king's highness, 
and every other Christian prince, has taken with so 
much solemnity at his coronation. There is no one 
Doctor's writings to vouch for all this." 

Here again the chancellor remarked, that the 
knight arrogated to himself to be more wise, and of 
more sincere conscience than the whole realm 
beside. To which Sir Thomas replied; "lam able 
to produce against one bishop that you can bring 
forth on your side, one hundred for my opinion; and 
against one realm, the consent of all Christendom 
for more than a thousand years." 

Here the Duke of Norfolk exclaimed; " Now, 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 329, 

Sir Thomas, you show yourself to be of an obsti- 
nate and malicious mind." " Noble Sir," returned 
More, " it is no obstinacy or malice that causes me 
to say this, but the just necessity of the cause, for 
the disrharg-e of my conscience. God be my witness, 
that nothing but this hath moved me hereunto." 

Here the chief justice informed him, that, in con- 
sideration of the high offices he had filled, the king 
was graciously pleased to commute his sentence to 
simple decapitation. Solemn as such a moment 
would have Ijeen to ordinary men, this mitigation of 
punishment afforded the knight a subject for his 
irrepressible humor. " I thank the King for his 
kindness: but I pray God to preserve all my friends 
from favors such as these." 

The commissioners once more offered him a fa- 
vourable hearing, if he had any further matters to 
propose. "My Lords," said he, "I have no more 
to say, but that, as the blessed Apostle St. Paul was 
present and consented to the death of St. Stephen, 
and held the clothes of those who stoned him to 
death, and they are both now saints in heaven and 
shall continue there friends for ever; — so do I verily 
trust, and shall, therefore, right heartily pray, that, 
though your Lordships have now, here on earth, 
been judges to my condemnation, we may, never- 
theless, hereafter meet in heaven merrily together 
to our everlasting salvation. Once again, God pre- 
serve you all, and guard and bless with length of 
days my sovereign Lord the King, and grant him 
faithful counsellors."* 

* Thero is an admirable simplicity in the manner in which 
More conducted his defence, in no part of which is there tlie 
slightest approach to theatricaF manner, or ostentatious defi- 
ance; and, instead of provokinghis judges to violence, he seem- 
ed by his example wiling to teach them the decorum and mild- 
ness uf the judgment-seat. He used all the just means of de- 
fence, whicli law or fact afforded, as earnestly as if he had ex- 
pected justice. Throughout his sufferings, he tiretrayed no need 
of the base aids from pride and passion, which often bestow 
counterfeit fortitude on a public death." — Sir J. Mackintosh. 

" Burnet should have blushed to excuse, by absurd and un- 
worthy sophistry, the punishment of those who refused to 
swear to the king's supremacy." — Elallam. Constitu. Hist. I. 39. 
28* 



330 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

Roper had attended the trial, and the moment it 
was concluded, he hastened round to the door by 
which his father-in-law w^ould be conducted on his 
way back to the Tower. After waiting a short time, 
More was brought forth guarded, when Roper, rush- 
ing forward through the crowd, threw himself on 
his knees before the man whom he had already 
learned to venerate as a martyr, and earnestly beg- 
ged his blessing. Sir Thomas stopped for a mo- 
ment to pronounce a benediction upon the petitioner, 
and then was hurried on to the barge that was wait- 
ing to convey him to the'Tower. After the exhaus- 
tion of the trial, and the heat and suffocation of a 
crowded court, it was refreshing to breathe the fresh 
air of the river, and Sir Thomas soon recovered his 
spirits again, and conversed freely with Sir William 
Kingston, the constable of the Tower, "his very 
dear friend." When More saw the tears stealing 
down his cheeks, he endeavored to assuage his 
sorrows by the consolations of religion, and then 
fell into familiar talk upon the objects of the scene 
around. Kingston afterwards said to Roper — " In- 
deed, bat I was ashamed of myself when I found 
my heart so feeble, and his so strong." When they 
reached the Tower wharf. More had entirely reco- 
vered his usual cheerful tone, and stepped out of 
the barge with alacrity: but here his feelings were 
to be put severely to the proof. Scarcely had he 
set his foot upon the wharf, where the Tower guards 
were drawn up to receive him, when a person made 
her way through the assembled throng, arrested the 
procession, and in an instant clung around his neck. 
It was his Margaret, his good angel, who had been 
eagerly watching for his landing, her heart having 
told her that this would be the last opportunity of 
seeing her dear father in this world. No sooner had 
she caught a glance of him, and saw the axe borne 
before, with the edge towards him — the certain sign 
of what was to follow — than she rushed forward, 
"and without care for herself, passing through the 
midst of the guard, who with bills and halberts 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 



331 



compassed him around, there openly in the sight of 
them all embraced him, took him about the neck, 
and kissed him, unable to utter any other word than 
" Oh my father! Oh my father!" Before the face of 
his judges, More had stood calm, cheerful, triumph- 
ant; but this was an appeal to the tenderest feel- 
ings of his heart for which he was little prepared. 
But, "pleased with her most natural and dear af- 
fection toward him, he gave her his fatherly bless- 
ing, telling her that God's holy will must be done; 
that she knew full well all the secrets of his heart, 
and that, like him, she must conform to the decrees 
of heaven and be patient." They parted. But 
" scarcely had she gone ten steps, when, not satis- 
fied with the former farewell, like one who had for- 
gotten herself, ravished with the entire love of so 
worthy a father, she again rushed through the clos- 
ing guards, hung about his neck, and divers times 
kissed him." More's philosophy was not proof 
against this second attack; he spoke not a word, but 
the tears streamed from his eyes.* These sorrows 
were infectious: "Yea, there were very few in all 
the crowd, who could refrain from weeping at this 
^ight; no, not the guards themselves." 

In so trying a moment. More realised the full 
force of that admonition of the Psalmist: CaM thy 
burthen upon the Lord, and He will support thee! 

Nor had Margaret come unattended to fulfil this 
melancholy office of love. She was accompanied 
by her brother, and by Margaret More's ward, who 
imitated Mrs. Roper's example, and embraced their 
father, friend, and protector; as also did Margaret's 
" faithful maid servant, Dorothy Colley," of whose 

* Whom to leave, 

AlOTie is bitter to me; and, in dying. 
Go with me, like good angels, to my end. 
And, as the long divorce of steel falls on me, 
Make of your prayers one sweet sacrifice. 
And lift my soul to heaven. 

Shakspeare, Henry VIIL 



332 



SIR THOMAS MORE, 



testimony of affection More afterwards observed, 
" that it was homely, but very lovingly done." 

History has recorded few things so affecting as 
this last interview between More and his daughter. 
As we read, and remember the blameless, and even 
lofty character of their domestic life, the school, the 
playful and unreserved intercourse of the father and 
his children, their severer studies, their religious 
exercises, the truly moral feeling which regulated 
the employments of every hour, the charity to 
others, and the perfect union among themselves: — 
as we recollect all this, we are led to see how far 
the taking counsel with things impure can stifle in 
the heart the sense of justice and humanity, and are 
enabled to estimate the amount of selfishness, in- 
sensibility, and crime, chargeable to the monarch 
who could deprive his people of examples so pure, 
so generous, so ennobling.* 

The publication of the " State Papers" has put 
us in possession of two interesting documents, from 
which we learn the important fact, that a fortnight 
after Sir Thomas's trial and condemnation, he was 
once more examined, in the Tower, by four civilians, 
in the hope to shake his constancy, and gain him 
over to the royal pleasure. 

•'Interrogatories ministered to Sir Thomas More, 
Knight, the 14th day of June, Anno Regni Regis 
Henrici Octavi 27°, within the Tower of London, 



* What a noble subject this for the pencil of a Wilkie! More 
might figure in a picture of that artist, but he will nor do iu 
Hurdiss Trasjedy. Shakspeare has shown m.>re tact. Wolsey 
and Cruinweil figure in his Henry the Eighth: bur More has no 
place there. The two former bear in their characters the nia- 
leri^ils for the tragic muse, but only think of More strutting in 
the buskin! he wlio had not a particle of trickery or romance 
about him, or, as Dr. Johnson has it, "exhibited no sallies of 
poetical lamentation, no throes of tumultuous misery." It is 
not loo much to say of More, that he reversed the old remark, 
that "no man is a hero to his valet de chambre." iNothing 
could be more admirable than the ease with which he wore his 
greatness. He claimed no less resprct in his undress, than when 
decked in his robes of office, and preceded by his chancellor's 
mace. 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 333 

on the behalf of the King's Highness, before Mr. 
Bedle, Mr. Doctor Aldridge, Mr. Doctor Lay- 
ton, Mr. Doctor Curwen, in the presence of Pol- 
stede, Whalley, and Rice aforesaid. 

1. First, whether he had any communication, 
reasoning, or consultation with any man or person, 
since he came to the Tower, touching the Acts of 
Succession, the Act of Supreme Head, wherein 
speaking of certain words by the King's Highness 
is made treason, or no] and if he say, yes; then be 
he asked when, how oft, with whom, and to what 
effect? 

2. liem^ whether he received any letters of any 
man, or consulted any man, or wrote any letters to 
other men, since he came to the Tower, touching the 
said acts, or any of them, or any other business or 
affairs concerning the King's Highness, his suc- 
cession, or this his realm? and if he say, yes; 
then be he inquired, how many, of whom, and to 
whom, when, and of what tenor or effect! 

3. J/em, whether the same letters be forth com- 
ming or not? and if he say no; then be he asked, 
why, and to what intent they were done away, and 
by whose means'? 

4. Item^ whether any man of this realm, or 
without this realm, did send unto him any let- 
ters or message, counselling or exhorting him to 
continue and persist in the opinion, that he is ml 
If he say, yes; than be he inquired, how many they 
were, of whom, and to what effect] 

Answers of Sir Thomas More, Knight, made to 
the above interrogatories. 

To the first he answereth, that he never had any 
communicacion, or consultation, touching any of 
the acts or matters specified in this interrogatory, 
since he came to the Tovt^er, with any person, as he 
saith. 

To the second interrogatory he saith, that since 
be came to the Tower, he wrote divers scrolls or let- 



334 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

ters to Mr. Doctor Fisher, and received from him 
some others again; whereof the most part (as he 
saith) contained nothing else, but comforting words 
from either to other, and declaration of the state 
that they were in, in their bodies, and giving of 
thanks for such meat or drink, that the one had 
sent to the other. But he saith, that he remem- 
bereth, that upon a quarter of a year, to his remem- 
brance, after the coming of this deponent to the 
Tower, this respondent wrote a letter to Dr. Fisher, 
wherein he certified him that this examinant had 
refused the oath of succession; and never showed 
the Council, nor intended ever to show any other 
cause, wherefore he did so refuse the same. And the 
said Dr. Fisher made him answer by another letter 
again, wherein he declared what answer he had 
made to the Council, and remembereth that this 
was part of the contents thereof: 'how he had 
not refused to swear to the succession.' And saith, 
that there went no other letters between them, that 
any thing touched the King's business, laws, or 
affairs, till the Council came hither, first of all, 
to examine this deponent upon the Act of Supreme 
Head. After which examination, this examinant re- 
ceived a letter from Dr. Fisher, of this effect, viz. 
' How he was desirous to know of this respondent, 
what answer he had made to the Council.' And 
thereupon this respondent answered him by another 
letter, as thus: 'My Lord, I am determined to 
meddle of no thing, but only to give my mind un- 
to God, and the sum of my whole study shall 
be, to think upon the Passion of Christ, and my 
passage out of this world, with the dependences 
thereupon ;— or else thus: ' My Lord, my answer 
was this, that I was determined to meddle with no 
thing,' &c , as above: he cannot well remember, 
whether of both the said ways he wrote the same 
letter. Then within a while after, he saith, he re- 
ceived another letter from the said Dr. Fisher, of 
this effect: ' That he was informed that there was 
a word in the statute, [26 Hen. VIH. cap. 13.] 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 335 

" Maliciously;" and if it were so, that he thought 
thereby, that a man, speaking nothing of malice, did 
not offend the statute; and desired this respondent 
to show him, whether he saw aught otherwise in it.' 
And this respondent answered him again, by another 
letter, shortly after, to this effect, viz. ' How this 
examinant took it to his thinking, as he did; but the 
understanding or interpretation of the said statute 
would neither be taken after his mind, nor after 
this deponent's mind; and therefore it was not good 
for any man to trust unto any such thing.' 

And saith farther, that other in this last letter, 
or in another mean letter between this and the 
first, he wrote never. This examinant confesseth 
how he had spoken to the Council, that he would 
meddle with nothing, but would think on the Pas- 
sion of Christ, and his passage out of the world, 
and that he had written the same words to Dr. 
Fisher; and fearing, lest it might happen him to 
speak the same words, or like, in his answer to 
the Council, this examinant desired him to make 
his answer according to his own mind, and to 
meddle with no such thing as he had written unto 
him, lest he should give the Council occasion to 
ween, that there was some confederacy between 
them both. 

Also, saith, that since the last examination of him, 
this examinant did send Dr. Fisher word, by a let- 
ter, that Mr. Solicitor [Rich] had shewed him, 
that it was all one not to answer, and to say against 
the statute what a man would, as all the learned men 
of England would justify, as he said then; and there- 
fore he said, he could reckon upon nothing else but 
upon the uttermost: wherefore he prayed him to 
pray for this examinant, and he would again pray 
for him. 

Also, he saith, that he, considering how it would 
come to his daughter's ear, Mr. Roper's wife, 
that the Council had been with him, and should 
hear things abroad of him thereupon, that might 
put her to a sudden flight; and fearing lest she^ be- 



336 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

ing- (as he thoug-ht) with child,* should take some 
harm by that sudden flight, and therefore minding to 
prepare her before, to take well aworth whatso- 
ever thing should betide of him, better or worse; 
did send unto her, both after the first examina- 
tion, and also after the last, letters, by the which he 
did signify unto her, how that the Council had 
been to examine him, and had asked him certain 
questions touching the King's statutes, and that 
he had answered them, that he would meddle 
with nothing, but would serve God: and what the 
end thereof should be, he could not tell; but what- 
soever it were, better or worse, he desired her to 
take it patiently, and take no thought therefor, but 
only pray for him. And saith, that she had writ- 
ten unto him, before, divers letters, to exhort him 
and advertise him to accommodate himself to the 
King's pleasure; and specially, in the last letter, 
she used great vehemence and obsecration, to per- 
suade this examinant to incline to the King's de- 
sire. And other letters, than those before touched, 
he neither sent, nor received, to or from any person, 
since he came to the Tower, to his remembrance; and 
saith that George, the Lieutenant's servant, did 
carry the said letters to and fro. 

To the third interrogatory he saith, that there is 
none of the said letters forthcoming, whereof he 
knoweth; but this examinant would have had George 
to keep them, and George always said, that there 
was no better keeper than the Are, and so burned 
them. And whan he saw, that he could not per- 
suade George to keep them, he would have had 
George to show them, first to some trusty friend 
of his, that could read, and if he saw that there 
were any matter of importance in them, that he 
should carry the same to the Council, and get 
the thanks himself, first of any man therefor: and 



* The circumstance mentioned in the text serves to give an 
additional interest to the scene on Tower-whaif. Margaret 
was true to her character, merging the feelings of the mother 
in the deeper solicitudes of the daughter. 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 337 

if there were none such matters in them, that he 
should deliver them where he be directed. Yet 
the said Georg-e feared so (as he always said) his 
master, the Lieutenant, which had charged him 
highly that he should meddle with no such matters, 
lest he would have been extremely displeased with 
him if he had seen that he had done any thing, 
were it never of so small importance, against his 
commandment; and therefore he would needs burn 
them. 

To the fourth interrogatory he answereth, nay. 

Examined further, to what intent he did send the 
said letters to the said Mr. Doctor Fisher? saith, 
that considering they were both in one prison, and 
for one cause, he was glad to send unto him, and 
to hear from him again. 

(Signed) J. (^Notarial Mark) R. 

Interrogatories, ministered, on the King's behalf, 
unto Sir Thomas More, Knight, the day, year, 
and place above recited, by the Council before- 
named, and in the presence of the said witnesses; 
with his answers unto the same. 

First, whether he would obey the King's High- 
ness, as Supreme Head on earth, immediately under 
Christ, of the Church of England, and him so 
repute, take, accept, and recognise, according unto 
the statute in that behalf made? 

To the which interrogatory he saith, that he can 
make no answer. 

Item. Whether he will consent and approve the 
King's Highness' marriage with the most noble 
Queen Anne, that now is, to be good and lawful; 
and affirm that the marriage between the King's 
said Highness, and the Lady Catherine, Princess 
Dowager, pretensed, was and is unjust and unlaw- 
ful; or no] 

To the same he saith, that he did never speak nor 
meddle against the same, nor thereunto can make 
answer. 
29 



338 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

Item. Where it was objected unto him, that by 
the said statute, he, being one of the King's sub- 
jects, is bound to answer to the said question, 
and to recognise the King's Highness to be Supreme 
Head, as is aforesaid, as all other his said sub- 
jects are bound to recognise, according unto the 
said statute. 

To the same, he saith, that he can make no an- 
swer. 

(Signed) J. {Notarial Mark) R. 

State Papers, Hen. VKI. vol. i. p. 432.* 

It is evident that these interrogatories, into which 
some terms peculiarly objectionable to More were 
now, for the first time, inserted, were contrived for 
the sole purpose of reducing the illustrious victim 
to the option of uttering a lie, or of suffering death. 
The conspirators against him might, perhaps, have 
a faint idea that they had at length broken his spi- 
rit. If he persisted, they hoped that he might be 
represented as bringing destruction on himself by 
his own obstinacy. 

Such, however, was his calm and well-ordered 
mind, that he said and did nothing to provoke his 
fate. Had he given affirmative answers, he would 
have sworn falsely: he was the martyr of veracity. | 

* Turner has the singular taste to dislike More, though, to 
be sure, it is only in the inverse ratio of his love for Henry, 
and his admiration of his virtues and aniability He has la- 
bored hard tn 8"u-ess at sovneihing like a case against the Ex- 
rjiancelliir; but it is a very lame attempt. It all results in 
this: — ■' It is clear that this refus-al [to acknowledge the mar- 
riage and the >^upreinacv] did not constitute the high treason 
of which More was accused, of which he was convicted, and 
for which he suffered, whatever they may have beev!" Jt is to 
be hiiped that the above documents will have the eflfect of 
setting Mr. Turner's doubts at rest. 

•j- Servant of God, well done!— well hast thou fought 
The belter fight, who single hast maintain'd, 
Against revolted miiliitudes, the cause 
Of Truth, and, for Truth's testimony, borne 
Universal reproach, far worse to bear 
Than violence : for this was all thy care :— 
To stand approv'd in sight of God, though worlds 
Judg'd thee perverse. 

Parad. Lost, B. VI. 29—36. 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 339 

Instead of being- moved by these attempts to prac- 
tise upon his presumed weakness, "he was arming 
himself by prayer, meditation, and many holy mor- 
tifications, f'or the day of his martyrdom." 

Among his memoranda, or points for meditation, 
we find the following, which show the workings of 
his spirit in those trying moments: — 

" To set my mind fast upon God, and not to hang 
upon the blasts of men's mouths. 

" To be content to be solitary, and rid my mind 
of all business. 

" By little and little, utterly to cast off the world. 

"To think my greatest enemies my very best 
friends. 

"To eschew light foolish mirth and gladness, and 
to cut off all unnecessary recreations." 

Some of his occasional ejaculations, as he paced 
thoughtfully about his prison-chamber, are also left 
us: — 

" Who would save his life to displease his God? 
Jf thou so savedst thy life, how deadly wouldst thou 
hate it on the morrow, and feel heavy at heart, that 
thou hadst not died the day before! 

"Cause hast thou none, pardie! to fear that for 
to-morrow, which thou knowest right well had in a 
few days fallen. 

" If the trouble thou sufferest be according to the 
will of God, then cheerfully commit thy soul into 
his hands: He is trusty, and will not deceive thee. 

" If thou hast been with Christ at the wine-feast 
of Galilee, shrink not to stand with him before the 
judgment-seat of Pilate. The moment approaches 
that thou shalt rejoice with him in the revelation of 
his glory." 

'I'he following are of a deeper and more impressive 
cast: they sound the solemn note of preparation for 
another and a better order of things. 

" Give me thy grace, O God, to set the world at 
nought, and to be gladly thinking of Thee. 

" To call upon Thee piteously for thy help; to 



340 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

lean upon thy comforts; and busily to labor to love 
Thee. 

" To humble myself under the mighty hand of 
God, and to bewail my sins past. 

" For the purging of them, patiently to sniffer ad- 
versity; to be joyful of tribulation. Gladly to bear 
my purgatory here. 

"To walk the narrow way thatleadeth to life; to 
bear the cross with Christ. 

" To pray for pardon before the judge come. To 
have continually in mind the passion that Christ 
suffered forme. For all his benefits unceasingly to 
give Him thanks. 

" Ever to have the last things in remembrance. 
To make Death no stranger to me. To have him 
ever before my eyes, who is ever so near at hand."* 

A few days previous to his death, Sir Thomas 
wrote, with his usual material of coal, an affection- 
ate letter to Mr. Antonio Bonvisi, a rich Italian 
merchant of Lucca, who had been for some time a 
resident in London, and to whose liberality More 
and his family appear to have been deeply indebted 
in the season of their distress. We shall shortly 
have occasion to see that the handsome silk gown 
in which Sir Thomas intended to appear on the 
scaffold, was a gift of this worthy man. The letter 
in question is in Latin; there is something very 
touching in the kind of postscript appended to Sir 
Thomas's signature; " Most faithful and best be- 
loved of my friends, and as I used to call you in old 
times ' pupil of my eye,' fare thee well. 

"THOMAS MORE." 

" Frustra fecero si adjiciam tuus, nam hoc jam 
nescire non potes quam tot beneficiis emeris, nee 
ego nunc talis sum ut referat cujus sim''' — It were 
unnecessary to add thine, of that you cannot be ig- 
norant, having purchased it by so many benefits; 
and such am I now, that it is of little consequence 
whose I am. 

* It was no wonder to hear rumor tell 
Tliat who so oft had died, once died so well. 

Q^uarles. 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 341 

Monday, July 5th. — On this, the very day before 
his execution, he wrote the following letter to his 
beloved Margaret, which breathes the very soul of 
paternal tenderness. 

My good daughter: Our Lord bless you, my good 
daughter, and your good husband, and your little boy, 
and all yours, and all my children, and all my god- 
children, and all our friends. Recommend me when 
3''e may, to my good daughter Cecily, whom I be- 
seech Our Lord to comfort. And I send her my 
blessing, and to all her children, and beg her to 
pray for me. I send her a handkerchief; and God 
comfort my good son, her husband. My good 
daughter Daunce hath the picture in parchment, 
that you delivered me from my lady Conyers; her 
name is on the back of it. Shew her that i heartily 
pray her, that you may send it in my name to her 
again, for a token from me to pray for me. I like 
especially well Dorothy Colly; I pray you be good 
unto her, I would xuit [know] whether that be she 
you wrote me of; if not, yet I pray you be good to 
the other as you may, in her aMiction, and to my 
good daughter Joan Aleyn too. Give her, I pray 
you, some kind answer, for she sued hither to me 
this day, to pray you to be good to her. I cumber 
you, good Margaret, much, and I should be sorry if 
it were to be any longer than to-morrow; for it is 
St. Thomas' even, and the uias [vigil] of St. Pe- 
ter; and therefore to-morrow long 1 to go to God: 
it were a day very meet and convenient for me. — I 
never liked your manner towards me better, than 
when you kissed me last,* for I like when daughter- 
ly love and dear charity have no leisure to look to 
Vv^orldly courtesy. Farewell, my dear child, and 
pray for me, and I shall for you, and for all your 
friends, that we may merrily meet in heavon. I 
thank you for your great cost. 1 send now to my 



* Here, as below, when speaking of liis son, he alludes to the 
affecting scene on Tower-wharf. 
29* 



342 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

good daughter Clement her algorism stone,* and 
send her and my godson, and all hers, God's bless- 
ing and mine. I pray you, at time convenient, re- 
commend me to my good son, John More; I liked 
well his natural fashion. Our Lord bless him, and 
his good wife, my loving daughter, to whom 1 pray 
him to be good, as he hath great cause; and if the 
land of mine come to his hand, he break not my will 
concerning his sister Daunce. And Our Lord bless 
Thomas and Austen, and all that they shall have. 

"More got such little pieces of paper," says 
Cresacre, "as he could obtain by stealth, onw^hich 
he wrote with a coal. Of these," he adds, " my 
father left me the one which was to his wife, and 
which he had drawn over with ink: I account it a 
precious jewel." Well might he set such value on 
a relic, hallowed by recollections so tender and en- 
nobling, for, in all probability, the letter was the 
one we have just read, traced by More's dying hand. f 

From Cresacre we also gather the following in- 
teresting particulars. Together with the letter we 
have just cited, he also sent Margaret his hair-shirt 
and his discipline, unwilling that they should be 
found upon his person at the time of his death, " as 
one that was loth to have the world know that he 
used such austerity." There is a touching pathos 
in the observations that follow: " During his whole 
life-time, he had cunningly contrived, with his mirth 
and gaiety, to hide from the eyes of others his se- 
vere mortifications; and having now finished the good 

* An algorism stone was a device nsed for learning arith- 
metic, snniet[iiii<5 in iha nature of the multiplication table. 
More's protegee, Margaret Giggs, had married Dr. Clement, of 
whom mention lias been made in the early part of this volume. 

■f An autograph of Margaret Roper, accompanying a letter 
in cyphers, is in the possession of the writer of these pages. 
It was the gift of the descendant of a noble Catholic family, 
connected by marriage with a branch of that of the illustrious 
chancellor. Would I could apply to this lady the words of one 
of More's contemporaries: 

Moro vita fides; nam dummanetilla, manebat, 
Stante fide, stabat.— ifere. Holland. 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 343 

JIgkt, he sent away the weapons of Ms spiritual 
combat.^^ 

For the reasons assigned in the above letter, it 
was probably at More's particular request, that the 
following day was fixed upon for his execution. 

Early on the morning' of Tuesday, July 6th, 
(St. Thomas's eve), 1535, More's "singular good 
friend," Sir Thomas Pope, came to him with a 
message from the king and council, to say that be 
was to die before nine o'clock of the same morning, 
and that he should prepare himself accordingly. 

" Mr. Pope," said Sir Thomas, " for your good 
tidings I heartily thank you. I have always been 
muchbounden to the king's highness for the benefits 
that, from time to time, he hath most bounteously 
pressed upon me; and yet more bounden am 1 to his 
grace for putting me here, where I have had con- 
venient time and space to have remembrance of my 
end. And, so God help me! most of all, Mr. Pope, 
am I bounden to his highness, that it pleaseth him 
so shortly to rid me from the miseries of this 
wretched world. And therefore will I not fail 
earnestly to pray for his grace, both here and in the 
world to come." " The king's pleasure is farther," 
added Pope, " that, at your execution, you shall not 
use many words." " Mr. Pope," replied More, 
"you do well to give me warning of his grace's 
pleasure; for otherwise, at that time, I had purposed 
somewhat to have spoken, but of no matter where- 
with his grace, or any, should have had cause to be 
offended. Nevertheless, whatever I might have in- 
tended, I am ready obediently to conform myself to 
his grace's commands. But this I beseech you, 
good Mr. Pope, to intercede with his highness, that 
my daughter Margaret may be at my burial." — 
" The king is content already," said Pope, " that 
your wife, and children, and other your friends, shall 
have liberty to be present thereat." 

It was not without reason that Henry accompanied 
the message of death, with a command " not to use 
many words." He was not ignorant of More's ability 



344 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

as a public speaker, and knew how greatly he was 
beloved by the people, arid more especially by the 
citizens, among- whom he had spent so many years 
of his life. He was sensible of his injustice to 
More, and judging of other men's hearts by his 
own, feared that he should be met by vindictive 
feelings on the part of the man he was pursuing with 
outrage and wrong. 

Pope now took leave of More, and could not re- 
frain from weeping: "Nay, nay, quiet yourself, 
good Mr. Pope," said Sir Thomas, " and be not 
discomforted, for 1 trust we shall soon see each 
other full merrily in heaven, where we shall live 
and love together in eternal bliss." 

When he was gone, says Cresacre, Sir Thomas, 
as one that had been invited to a solemn banquet, 
changed himself into his best apparel, and put on 
the silken camlet gown, which his " entire friend," 
Mr. Antonio Bonvisi had given him since he had 
been in the Tower. He then knelt down, and be- 
took himself earnestly to his devotions, The fol- 
lowing prayer, the very effusion of his gentle spirit, 
was found among other papers, written with a coal. 
It is inscribed as '' composed before he was put to 
death," and no doubt it was his prayer at this mo- 
ment. 

A DEVOUT PRAYER. 

Pater-noster, Jlve-Maria^ Credo. Hoi}'' Trinity, 
Father, Son, and H^oly Ghost, three equal and co- 
eternal persons in one Almighty God, have merc}?^ on 
me, a poor miserable sinner, meekly acknowledging' 
before thy high Majesiy, my whole sinful life, even 
from my childhood hitherto. {Self-examination.') 

And now, good and gracious Lord, as Thou hast 
given me thy grace to know and acknowledge my 
sins, so give me thy grace, not in word only, but in 
contrition of heart, to repent, and utterly forsake 
them. Forgive me these sins, and those also which 
my reason, blinded by the senses, cannot discern for 



HrS LIFE AND TIMES. 345 

sins. Illuminate, good Lord, this heart of mine, 
and give me thy grace to know and repent all my 
sins; forgive me such as I have negligently forgot- 
ten, and bring them to my mind, with grace purely 
to confess them before Thee. 

Glorious God, give me grace, with little respect 
to the world, so firmly to set my heart upon Thee, 
that I may say with the blessed apostle St. Paul, 
*' The world is crucified to me, and I to the world. 
To me to live is Christ, and to die is gain. I long 
to be dissolved and to be with Christ." 

O Almighty Father, teach me to do thy will. 
Make me to run in the way of thy sweetness. Take 
me by the right hand, and lead me in the right way 
for mine enemies' sake; for I have said, I will re- 
strain my tongue as with a bridle. 

O glorious God, all sinful fear, all sinful sorrow 
and pensiveness, all sinful hope, all sinful mirth and 
gladness, take from me; and on the other hand, as 
to such fear, such sorrow, such heaviness, such 
comfort, consolation, and gladness, as may be pro- 
fitable to my soul, " Do unto me, O Lord, according 
to thy great kindness." 

Good Lord, give me the grace, in all my fear and 
agony, to have recourse to that great fear and won- 
derful agony, that Thou, my sweet Saviour, hadst on 
the mount of Olivet, before thy most bitter passion; 
and in the meditation thereof, to conceive comfort 
and consolation profitable to my soul. 

Almighty God, take from me all vain-glorious 
mind, all appetite of praise; all envy, covetousness, 
sloth; all appetite of revenge, all desire or delight 
of other folks' harm, all pleasure in provoking any 
to wrath and anger, all delight in exprobation or 
insultation against any person in calamity or afflic- 
tion. 

Give me, good Lord, a humble, lowly, quiet, 
peaceable, patient, charitable, tender, and pitiful 
heart; and may all my works, my words, my 
thoughts, have the taste of thy blessed Spirit. 

Give me, good Lord, a full faith, a firm hope, and 



346 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

a fervent charity; a love to Thee, good Lord, in- 
comparably above the love to myself, and that I love 
nothing- to thy displeasure, but all things in order 
to Thee. 

Give me, good Lord, a longing to be with Thee, 
not for the avoiding of the calamities of this wretch- 
ed world, not for the avoiding the pains of purga- 
tory, nor even the pains of hell, nor for attaining to 
the joys of heaven, nor for any interest of mine, but 
only for the very love of Thee. 

And bear me, good Lord, thy love and favor, 
which my love to thee-ward, were it ever so great, 
could not deserve. Pardon me, good Lord, that 1 
am so bold to make so high a petition, being so vile 
and sinful, and so unworthy to attain the lowest. 
But yet, good Lord, such they be, as I am bounden 
to wish, and should be nearer the effectual desire 
of, did not my manifold sins prevent me; from 
v^hich, glorious Saviour, vouchsafe of thy good- 
ness to wash me with that blessed blood that issued 
from thy sacred side, in the diverse torments of thy 
most bitter passion. 

Take from me, good Lord, this luke-warm fash- 
ion, or rather this clay-cold manner of meditation, 
and this dulness of prayer unto Thee. Give me 
delight, warmth, and quickness in thinking upon 
Thee; and give me thy grace to long for thine holy 
sacraments, and especially to rejoice in the presence 
of thy ever-blessed Body, to thank Thee for thy 
gracious visitation therewith, and virtually to be 
participant of the same this day, that I may be made 
a lively member of thy holy mystical body, the 
Catholic church. 

Almighty God, have mercy on N. and iV., with 
especial commemoiation of every friend, as goodly 
affection and occasion require. Almighty God, 
have mercy on N. and iV"., and on all that bear me 
evil-will and wish me harm. Their faults and 
mine together, by such easy, tender, and merciful 
means, as thine Infinite Wisdom best can devise, 
vouchsafe to amend and redress, and make us re- 



HIS LIFE AKD TIMES. 347 

deemed sonls in heaven together, where we may 
ever love Thee, and live with Thee and thy blessed 
saints. Grant this, O glorious Trinity, for the bit- 
ter passion of our sweet Saviour, Jesus Christ. 
Give me patience in tribulation, and grace to con- 
form my will in all things to thine. 

The things, good Lord, that I pray for, give me 
grace to labor for. Vonchsafe, O Lord, to keep me 
this day without sin. Have mercy on me, O Lord, 
according to thy great mercy. Let thy mercy be 
upon us, Lord, as we have hoped in Thee. In 
Thee, Lord, have I trusted, let me never be con- 
founded ! 

When the lieutenant of the Tower entered, at the 
appointed hour, he found him prepared for his com- 
ing, but, seeing the handsome silk gown which he 
had put on, he advised him to take them off again, 
"for," said he, "he who will get it is a mere 
javell fa worthless fellow]." 

" What, Mr. Lieutenant," said the knight, " shall 
I account him a javell, who is to do me this day so 
singular a service] Nay, were it cloth of gold, I 
should think it well-bestowed on him, as St. Cy- 
prian did, who gave his executioner thirty pieces 
of gold." More, however, yielded to the lieuten- 
ant's persuasions, "loth, for friendship's sake, to 
deny him so small a matter, [for the prisoner's 
clothes were his perquisite of office,] and so he put 
on a gown of frieze." Yet, of the little money 
which was left him, he sent his executioner an 
angel.* 

At the appointed hour of nine, he was conducted 
from his prison, by the lieutenant of the Tower, to 
the place of execution, which was on Tower-hill. 
His grandson thus describes his appearance: " His 
beard was long, his face pale and emaciated, but 



* This was a gold coin, of the value of about ten shillings. It 
is supposed to have received its name from the well-known 
anecdote of Pope Gregory, angli and angeli, in reference to 
the Anglo-Saxon captives. 



348 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

his eye had all its former vivacity. He bore in his 
hands a red cross, and was often seen to cast his 
eyes towards heaven." On reaching the foot of the 
scaffold, he surveyed it steadily, and, as it appeared 
somewhat too slight for the occasion, leaning his 
hand upon the shoulder of the lieutenant, he said to 
him with a smile: "I pray you. Sir, see me safe 
up; as for my coming down, 1 may shift for my- 
self." 

When on the scaffold, he began a short address 
to the people, " who were in great troops there to 
see and hear him," but he was interrupted by the 
sheriff. Therefore, he briefly desired all the people 
to pray for him, and to bear witness, that he there 
died in, and for the faith of, the Holy Catholic 
Church, a loyal servant both of God and the King. 
This said, he knelt down, and pronounced, with 
fervent devotion; the Miserere psalm. He then rose 
cheerfully, and, the executioner coming forward, 
and asking his forgiveness, More kissed him and 
said: "Nay, thou wilt do me this day a greater 
benefit than any other mortal man is able to do. 
Pluck up thy spirit, man, and be not afraid to do 
thy office. You see," he added with a smile, "that 
my neck is but short, take heed, therefore, that 
thou strike not awry for the saving of thy honesty 
[credit]." 

When the executioner would have covered his 
eyes, he said: "Hold, I will do that myself;" and 
he did so with a kerchief that he had brought with 
him for the purpose. He then knelt, and adjusted 
his neck upon the block ; but, after a moment's 
space, he again raised his head, and removing aside 
his beard, was heard to say: "That, at least, has 
committed no treason." 

With such alacrity and spiritual joy, adds his 
grandson, did he receive the fatal blow, which had 
no sooner severed the head from the body, than his 
soul was carried by angels into everlasting glory, 
where a crown of martyrdom was placed upon him, 
which can never fade nor decay. 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 349 

Old Camden, with all his prejudices, is forced to 
acknowledge, that " More's behavior in this last 
act, was not unbecoming- the primitive age of the 
Christian church." Speaking of his serenity in 
these trying moments, another writer beautifully 
observes; " How cheerfully did he undress himself 
for his spiritual repose!" 

" Suffering virtue," says Father Southwell, "is 
like the precious Arabian gum, more fragrant when 
crushed and consumed!" 

More has been censured by some for levity in 
these awful moments. It is a censorious cavil, 
v/hich would be worthy of little notice had it not 
occasioned some sentences of as noble reflection, 
and beautiful composition, as the English language 
can boast. " The innocent mirth, which had been so 
conspicuous in his life, did not forsake him to the last. 
His death was of a piece with his life; there was 
nothing in it new, forced, or affected. He did not 
look upon the severing of his head from his body as 
a circumstance whish ought to produce any change 
in the disposition of his mind; and as he died in a 
fixed and settled hope of immortality, he thought 
any unusual degree of sorrow and concern impro- 
per." {Spectator, No, 349.) 

According to the barbarous practice of laws which 
vainly struggle to carry their cruelty beyond the 
grave, the head of Sir Thomas More was placed on 
London bridge.* His darling daughter, Margaret, 
had the courage to procure the head to be taken 
down, that she might exercise her affection by con- 

* A poet of that period has the following lines on this sub- 
ject, which are simple and pathetic: 

Q,uod capiti quondam Ciceronis rostra fuere, 

Hoc est pons capiti. More diserte, tuo: 
Ducentes Angli suspiria pectore, dicunt; 

"Doctior et melior nullus in orbe fuitl" 

As Tally's bleeding head the rostrum bore, 

See on yon bridge the head of martyred More. 

Men cry, recoiling from the sight with pain; 

" When shall we look upon his like again!' ' W. 

30 



350 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

tinuing to look on a head so dear. Carrying her 
love beyond the grave, she desired that it might be 
buried with her when she died, which was about 
nine years after the fate of her father. The remains 
of this precious relic, are said to have been since 
observed in the burial place, lying on what had been 
her bosom. 

We learn from Cresacre, that More's headless 
body was, by order, interred in St. Peter's Chapel 
within the Tower, "near to the body of the holy 
martyr. Bishop Fisher, who being put to death just 
a fortnight before, had small respect done him all 
this while." Hall says he was interred in the 
same grave with his friend and fellow-sufferer,* 
who, like More, had appointed himselfatombinhis 
lifetime, which his body never occupied. 

We quote w^ith pleasure the eloquent eulogy pro- 
nounced on Sir Thomas by the learned and liberal 
Mackintosh. 

" Of all men nearly perfect. Sir Thomas More 
had, perhaps, the clearest marks of individual cha- 
racter. His peculiarities, though distinguishing him 
from all others, were yet withheld from growing 
into moral faults. It is not enough to say of him 
that he was unaffected, that he was natural, that he 
was simple; so the larger part of truly great men 
have been. But there is something homespun in 
More, which is common to him with scarcely any 
other, and which gives to all his faculties and quali- 
ties the appearance of being the native growth of the 
soil. The homeliness of his pleasantry purifies it 

* There is a rare engraving of a double portrait of More and 
Fisher, with the follovviiig inscription: 

Anglia vos quondam, communis patria, junxit, 

Sed niagis innexuit relligionis amor; 
Oh! quum carnificis vos percutit una securis, 

Unaque nex binis, unaque causa necis. 

' Whom England, common country, joined before. 

Religion's holy bond but bound the more; 
The self-same axe ennobles either name, 
The same your death, and cause of death the same. 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 351 

from show. He walks on the scaffold clad only in 
his household goodness. The unrefined benignity 
with which he ruled his patriarchal dwellino- at 
Chelsea, enabled him to look on the axe without 
being disturbed by any feeling of hatred for the ty- 
rant. This quality bound together his genius and 
learning, his eloquence and fame, with his homely 
and daily duties, bestowing a genuineness on alibis 
good qualities, a dignity on the most ordinary offices 
of life, and an accessible familiarity on the virtues 
of the hero and the martyr, which silences every 
suspicion that his excellences were magnified. 

" He thus simply performed great acts, and ut- 
tered great thoughts, because they were familiar to 
his great soul. The charm of this inborn and home- 
bred character seems as if it would have been taken 
off by polish. It is this household character which 
relieves our notion of him from vagueness, and di- 
vests perfection of that generality and coldness, to 
which the attempt to paint a perfect man is so 
liable. 

" It will naturally, and very strongly, excite the 
regret of the good in every age, that the life of this 
best of men should have been in the power of him 
who was rarely surpassed in wickedness. But the 
execrable Henry was the means of drawing forth 
the magnanimity, the fortitude, and the meekness of 
More. Had Henry been a just and merciful mo- 
narch, we should not have known the degree of ex- 
cellence to which human nature is capable of as- 
cending. Catholics ought to see in More, that 
mildness and candor are the true ornaments of all 
modes of faith. Protestants ought to be taught hu- 
mility and charity from this instance of the wisest 
and best of men falling into, what they deem, fatal 
errors. All men, in the fierce contests of contend- 
ing factions, should, from such an example, learn 
the wisdom to fear lest, in their most hated antago- 
nist, they may strike down a Sir Thomas More; for 
assuredly virtue is not so narrow as to be confined 
to any party; and we have in the case of More, a 



352 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

signal example, that the nearest approach to per- 
fect excellence does not exempt men from mistakes. 
" It is a pregnant proof that we should beware of 
hating men for their opinions, or of adopting their 
doctrines, merely because we love and venerate 
their virtues." 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 353 



CHAPTER IX. 

OPINIONS RESPECTING MORE. 

Erasmus and Cardinal Pole on More's death— Impressions pro- 
duced abroad by Henry's cruelty— Seiitiiiients of Charles V. 
aud Francis I. on that subject— CruiuweH'sinstructions to the 
English ambassador in Paris— Flattery of Henry's courtiers 
— Conduct of the King when Mores execution is announced 
to him — His tri-atment of More's family — Margaret Roper — 
Q,ueen Catherine, More's attachment to her to the last — 
More's character — His piety— His humor— fJis singularity in 
dress— Description of his person — His tastes— Tribute to his 
memory. 

We have ample testimony remaining- to us, that 
the sacrifice of More made an impression far beyond 
the limits of his own country, and of a deeper stamp 
than it has often been in the power of an individual 
to leave, who, like More, had been conspicuous, 
chiefly by his virtue in civil life. When Erasmus 
learned the sad tidings of the fate of his earliest 
and most constant friend, he could not suppress his 
emotion: "More is dead!" cried he; " More, whose 
breast was purer than snow, and whose genius was 
excellent beyond all of his nation. His goodness 
has so engraven him in men's hearts, that all lament 
his death, as if it were that of a father or a brother. 
1 have seen tears flow from eyes that never saw 
him — from men who never received the slighest 
benefit from him — yea, while I am penning- these 
lines, tears gush from my own eyes against my 
wall." He terminates this burst of feeling with a 
little phrase of touching- pathos: "In Moro mihi 
videor extinctus." — I seem to have died with More. 

Cardinal Pole bewailed the death of his friend 
with elegance and feeling. After comparing his 
death to that of Socrates, he adds: " 1 have seen even 
30* 



354 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

the greatest strangers, men who never knew him, 
never shared a favor at his hands, so much affected 
by his death, that, in reading the history of it, they 
could not withhold their tears: they wept at the 
mere fame of his fate. And I, at this distance, when 
writing of his death, although I was not bound to 
him by any private ties, but loved and esteemed 
him rather for his virtue and probity, and from the 
sense I had of the important services he had ren- 
dered to my country, yet God is my witness that I 
shed involuntary tears, which so impede my pen, 
and blot what I write, that with difficulty do I pro- 
ceed in my task." 

So great was the impression produced on the con- 
tinent by these tragedies, as to inspire with caution 
all those who had transactions with the country. 
The reformers, Melancthon and Bucer, being about 
to proceed to London on a mission from the Pro- 
testant Princes of Germany, felt no relish for the 
honor of martyrdom, and relinquished all immediate 
intention of their journey; and Erasmus emphatic- 
ally describes the situation of the country, by stating 
that the most intimate friends were fearful .of cor- 
responding with each other.* It filled Italy, the 
most cultivated portion of Europe, with horror. 
Paulo Jovio, the historian, called Henry a second 
Phalaris, " though," says Mackintosh, " in vain do 
we look in that, or any other history of a tyrant, 
real or imaginary, for a victim worthy of being com- 
pared to More." The English ministers through- 
out Europe were regarded with averted eyes as the 
agents of a monster. The Catholic zeal of Spain, 
and the resentment of the Spanish people against 
the oppression of Catherine, quickened their sym- 
pathy with More, and aggravated their detestation 
of Henry. Mason, the English agent in Spain, 
writes with strong feeling of the horror which he 
sees manifested around him at these deeds of blood. 



* "The men who were hitrhest in Henry's favor, had their 
heads the nearest to danger." — Cardinal Pole, 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 355 

*' What end," he exclaims, " this tragedy will have 
God only knows, if that indeed may be called a 
trag-edy which began in a wedding!" Harvey, the 
resident in Venice, reports the indignation of the 
citizens at the destruction of men of such honor and 
virtue, in defiance of the laws both of God and man. 
He ends by declaring that all he hears disgusts him 
with public life, and disposes him to retire from 
such scenes. The Emperor Charles V., on the ar- 
rival of these tidings, senffor Sir Thomas Elliot, 
the English ambassador, and said to him: "Sir, 
we understand that the king your master has put 
his faithful servant and wise counsellor. Sir Thomas 
More, to death." Elliot replied that he knew no- 
thing of the m.atter. " Well," said the emperor, 
" it is too true. And this will we say, that had we 
been master of such a servant, of whose doings our- 
selves have had these many years no small experi- 
ence, we would rather have lost the best city of 
our dominions than such a counsellor." This anec- 
dote, adds Roper, was reported to myself, my wife, 
and other friends, by Sir Thomas Elliot himself. 

The King of France also spoke to the English 
ambassador of these executions with great severity, 
and gave it as his advice that Henry should banish 
such offenders, rather than put them to death. To 
counteract these unfavorable impressions, Crum- 
well addressed the following letter of instructions 
to Sir John Wallop, the King's ambassador in Paris. 
After discussing some minor matters, the letter con- 
tinues as follows: ''And concerning the executions 
done, you shall say to the French king, that the 
same were not so marvellous extreme as he al- 
legeth; for touching Master More and the Bishop 
of Rochester, with such others as were executed 
here, their treasons, conspiracies, and practices, 
secretly practised, as well within the realm as with- 
out, to move and stir dissension, and to sow sedi- 
tion, intending thereby not only the destruction of 
the king, but also the whole subversion of his 
highness's realm, being explained and declared, 



356 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

and so manifestly proved before thenm, that they 
could not avoid nor deny it; and they, therefore, 
openly detected and lawfully convicted, judged, and 
condemned of high treason by the due order of the 
lava's of this realm, it shall and may well appear to 
all the world, that they, having such malice rooted 
in their hearts against their prince and sovereign, 
and the total destruction of the commonweal of this 
realm, were well worthy, if they had had a thou- 
sand lives, to have suffered ten times a more terrible 
death and execution than any of them did suffer. — ■ 
And touching such words as the French King spoke 
unto you, concerning how P>Iaster More died, and 
what he said to his daughter going to his judgment, 
and also w^hat exliortations he should give unto the 
king's subjects to be true and obedient to his grace, 
I assure you there was no such thing. And the 
king's pleasure is, that you should say unto the said 
French king, that his highness cannot otherwise 
take it, but very unkindly, that the French king, or 
any of his council, at whose hands he hath so much 
merited, and to whom he hath ministered so many 
great benefits, pleasures, and commodities, should 
so lightly give ear, faith, and credence to any such 
vain bruits and flying tales, not having first know- 
ledge or advertisement from the king here and his 
council, of their verity and truth: affirming it to be 
the office of a friend, hearing any such tales of so 
noble a prince, rather to have compressed the bearers 
thereof to silence, or, at the least, not to have per- 
mitted them to divulge the same until such time as 
the king's majesty, being so dear a friend, had been 
advertised thereof, and the truth known, before he 
should so lightly believe or allege any such re- 
port. This ingrate and unkind demeanor of the said 
French king, used in this behalf, argueth plainly, 
that there do not remain in his breast that integrity 
of heart and sincere amity towards the king and his 
proceedings, as his highness always heretofore hath 
expected and looked for. Which thing you may 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 357 

propose and allege unto the said French king and 
the grand master, or to one of them, with such 
modesty and soberness as that you think they may 
perceive that the king's highness hath good and 
just cause on his part, somewhat to take their light 
credence unkindly. And thus making an end, I 
pray you to use your discretion in the proposing of 
the premises to the French king and the grand mas- 
ter, or the one or both of them; using the same as 
a medicine, and after such sort, that, as near as ye 
can, it may be not displeasantly taken. And so for 
this time I bid you most heartily farewell. At 
Thornbury, the 23d day of August, 1535. 
Your assured friend, 

THOMAS CRUMWELL.* 

The direct and unblushing contempt of truth dis- 
played in this letter, and its flat contradictions of 
facts that had passed but a few days before under 
the very eyes of astonished Europe, need no com- 
ment here, but naturally lead us to reflect upon the 
character of the council of which Crumwell was 
the head. In order to form a just estimate of the 
virtues and vices of an individual, the circumstances 
of his age, and the character of his contemporaries, 
should be taken into consideration. 

Strype, anxious as he is on all occasions to save 
Henry's character, is obliged to acknowledge "how 
mortally the king was hated in Italy, and railed at 
in all societies abroad." There were, however, 
sycophants at home who strove to neutralise the 
effect of this by a larger close of flattery. Listen 
to Sir R. Morryson: •' Quis tarn barbarus, ut in 
principis serenissimo ore, clementissimi regis signa 
non videatT Quis potuit unquam frontem illam vel 
procul vidisse, et non agnovisse clementiae se- 
deral"! 

« Sti-ype's Memorials, p. J66. 

t Who so barbarous as not to recognise in that serenost of 
countenances the livitig iuipjess of the most clement of kings? 



358 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

And Sir Thos. Chaloner thus pens in heroics an 
excuse for his little peccadillioes: 

Q,uominiis id minim est, si fortiinatior et vex 
Indulsil genio, adniittens qiiandoqiie prnteiva, 
Atnon immani veniam superanlia facto.* 

It will place the virtue of More in stronger relief to 
contrast it with the weakness and vices of the lead- 
ing men of the age in which he lived. They are thus 
described by a masterly and impartial pen: "They 
yielded to every mandate of his [Henry's] impe- 
rious will; they bent with every breath of his ca- 
pricious humor; they are responsible for the illegal 
trial, for the iniquitous attainder, for the sanguinary 
statute, for the tyranny which they sanctioned by 
law, and for that which they permitted to subsist 
without law. Nor was this selfish and pusillanimous 
subserviency more characteristic of the minions of 
Henry's favor, the Crumwells, the Riders, the Pa- 
gets, the Russells, and the Pauletts, than of the 
representatives of ancient and honorable names, the 
Norfolks, the Arundels, the Shrewsburys. We 
trace these noble statesmen concurring in all the 
inconsistencies of this reign, and supporting all the 
changes of religion; constant only in the rapacious 
acquisition of estates and honors from whatever 
source, and in adherence to the present power.'^ — 
(Hallam. Constitu. Hist. I. 51.) 

In a book called " The Politic Glass," printed 
about this period, is the following picture of the 
courtiers of this reign: " Many in the court pull off 
their caps to thee, who would be glad to see thy 
head from thy shoulders; such men bow the knee 

Who could gaze on that bmw, even from a distance, and not 
hail it as the throne of clemency? 

" The grossest libel upon worn-out cruelty, is to Aowesfif with 
the title of clemency."— S?> Thos. Oi-^erbury. 

■^ Wiiat wonder if a highly favor'd king 
Should now and then commit a naughty thing, 
Indulging, as he may, a royal taste: 
Venial in him what others had disgrac'd. 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 359 

to do thee reverence, as would as soon they had 
broken their leg to carry thee to thy grave. There 
is always, I know not what, nor how, nor who, but 
so it is, that incessantly one cornplaineth, another 
murrnureth, another changeth, another hateth and 
despiseth. When those who dwell here come to 
old age, knowest thou what they bring from thence] 
gray heads, feet full of gout, the mouth toothless, 
the back full of pain, the heart full of sorrowful 
thoughts, and the soul full of sin." 

While in foreign countries the news of Henry's 
cruelty was received v;ith loud and general execra- 
tion, in England the intelligence of what had passed 
in the capital was listened to with deep but silent 
sorrow. When it was recollected that the deed was 
perpetrated against one who had been familiarly ad- 
mitted to the unreserve of his domestic hours, who 
had shared with him in the tranquil studies of the 
closet and the observatory, with whom he had taken 
sweet counsel, and in whose playful withe had found 
a relaxation from the cares of his kingly office, men 
were filled with amazement, and unable to furnish 
a solution to a mystery so incomprehensible. Some 
of those who durst think for themselves, no doubt 
concluded, with a writer of our own day, that " in 
this direful deed, Henry perhaps approached as 
nearly to the ideal standard of perfect wickedness 
as the infirmities of human nature will allow." — 
(Mackintosh Hist. Eng. chap. VH.) 

And yet the king is said to have put on the decent 
air of regret for the act he had committed. It is 
stated that when he received the report of More's 
execution, he was playing at draughts, while Anne 
Boleyn was looking on. Casting his eyes fiercely 
on the wretched woman, who in a few months was 
to expiate her indiscretions, if not her crimes, upon 
the scaffold, he exclaimed: " Thou art the cause of 
this man's death!" and abruptly breaking oflf the 
game, he betook himself to his chamber, and fell 



360 . SIR THOMAS MORE, 

into a fit of melancholy.* But here the expression 
of Henry's regret terminated, and the family of his 
victim were still the objects of his unm.anly ven- 
geance. The small wreck of More's fortune, which 
had been wasted in the public service, was seized as 
a forfeiture to the crown, although the anxious father 
had endeavored to secure it to his unhappy family, 
by executing conveyances previous to his condem- 
nation for treason: and in such abject misery were 
they left, that they were unable even to purchase a 
winding-sheet for his remains. It was supplied by 
the liberality of a friend. His family was driven 
from his favorite residence at Chelsea, which passed 
into the hands of a court favorite. | Henry, how- 
ever, with a kingly generosity, allowed his widow 
a pittance of twenty pounds a year! His son, John 
More, a man remarkable for the innocency of his 
manners, had nearly shared the same fate with him- 
self. Condemned for refusing the oath of supre- 
macy, he was, however, afterwards pardoned by an 
act of royal clemency; " because," adds Cresacre, 
" they had sufficiently fleeced him before, and could 
get nothing further by his death. My aunt Roper," 
continues the same faithful chronicler, " because 
she was a woman, was not so hardly dealt with, but 
only threatened very sore, both because she kept 
her father's head as a relic, and that she meant to 
put her father's works in print; yet, for all that, she 
was thrown into prison, where, after a short con- 



* In one of his elegant elegies on More, Johannes Secundum 
has these verses: 

Insomnem interea infestat torva umbra tyrannum 
Semper, et ante oculos sanguinolenta volat. 
Before his sleepless eyes thy ghost is found, 
Still pointing to the fresh and gory wound. 
We fear that the poet has given Henry credit for more sus- 
ceptibility than remained in his altered nature. It was but a 
flash of feeling, buried at once in the returning gloom. 

t " The fate of this house would seem to correspond with the 
fortunes of its master, having known a variety of changes. By 
Henry it was granted to Sir William Paulet, afterwards Mar- 
quis of Winchester, and Lord High Treasurer. From this fanii ly 
it successively passed into the hands of Lord Dacre, the famous 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 361 

This admirable woman died in 1544, nine years 
after her father, and was buried in the family vault in 
St. Dunstan's church, in the suburbs of Canterbury. 
It was her dying request, that the head of her be- 
loved father, which had been preserved with reli- 
gious care, should be placed within her arms: a re- 
quest which was faithfully complied with. She 
had two sons and three daughters, on whose educa- 
tion she had bestowed the same care that had been 
taken of her own. The famous scholar, Roger As- 
cham, afterwards preceptor and Latin Secretary to 
Queen Elizabeth, informs us that she was very de- 
sirous of having him for her children's tutor in the 
classical languages, but as his other duties prevented 
him from accepting the engagement, he recommend- 
ed Dr. Cole, and Dr. Christopherson, afterwards 
Bishop of Chichester, both known for their skill in 
the Greek language. Aschain styles the eldest of 
Margaret's daughters, who married a lawyer of the 
name of Clarke, an elegant ornament of her sex, and 
of Queen Mary's court. Margaret's second daugh- 
ter, who married Mr. Basset, was one of the gentle- 
women of Queen Mary's privy chamber, and transla- 
ted into English a part of her grandfather's " Exposi- 
tion of the Passion;" and is said to have so faithful- 
ly imitated Sir Thomas' style, that many were led 
to think it his. 

The firmness with which More upheld to the last 
the cause of his early friend and patroness, the vir- 

Lord Burleigh, his son the Earl of Salisbury, the Earl of Lincoln, 
Sir Anthony Gorges, the Earl of Middlesex, Villiers Duke of 
Buckingham, Sir Bulstrode Whitlocke, one of Cromwell's 
knights, the witty and profligate Duke of Buckingham, the Earl 
of Bristol, the Duke of Beaufort, and finally of Sir Hans Sloane, 
in 1738, who pulled it down two years afterwards. The choice 
of so many noble possessors, if it be a testimony to the laste 
of More, in the selection of the site, and the disposition of the 
grounds, is no less a satire on the president of the Royal So- 
ciety, who, amidst all his professions of fine taste and regard 
for antiquities, levelled this ancient mansion with the ground, 
and made a present of the beautiful gateway added by Inigo 
Jones, to some friend, for the ornament of an unknown villa." 
Macdiarmid, Lives of Brit. Statesmen, p. 118. 

31 



362 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

tuous and high-minded Catharine, is honorable to his 
memory. That More continued his affectionate re- 
gard, and good offices, not only to her, but also to 
her daughter the Princess Mary, we gather from 
Rastell's dedication of More's works to the latter, in 
which he says; " Sir Thomas More, while he lived, 
did bear towards your highness a special zeal, an 
entire affection, and reverent devotion; and, on the 
other side, your grace, as is well known, had to- 
wards him, in his lifetime, a benevolent mind and 
singular favor, not only for his great learning, 
but also for his much virtue. And I am fully per- 
suaded that your highness's good affection, towards 
him, is no wit diminished now after his death, but 
rather by his worthy works and goodly end more 
and more increased, who, now being with Almighty 
God, and living in heaven with him, with much 
greater zeal and devotion towards your majesty, 
than he had while here on earth, ceaseth not to pray 
for the king's majesty, for your highness, your sub- 
jects, your realms and dominions, and for the com- 
monwealth and Catholic religion of the same, and 
for all Christian realms also." 

To attempt the eulogium of such a man as 
More, would surely be a work of supererrogation. — 
" Praise Hercules!" said the honest Spartan; " who 
ever thought of blaming Hercules'?" All we shall 
do is to enlarge a little upon More's character. He 
was not only warmly attached to the faith of his 
fathers, but a zealous observer of all the rites and 
ceremonies of the church. We have already seen 
instances of this feeling of his, at which modern in- 
difference would doubtless be disposed to smile. 
We may be allowed to add another, which we find 
in Roper, the faithful recorder of his minutest actions. 
" In the public processions, also, such as on the feast 
of Corpus Christi, and other festivals of note, he 
would carry the cross before the rest, thinking him- 
self happy, if he could, in any way, show his love 
of God, and his ready zeal in his service." But 
this attention to outward observances, was but the 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 363 

effect of that religion of the heart, which urged him 
to make rapid advances in the path of Christian per- 
fection. " Though," says Roper, who never quit- 
ted his father-in-law's side, for nearly the last twen- 
ty years of his life, and knew his inmost heart, 
" Though he would appear like other men in his 
apparel and outward behaviour, yet was he singu- 
larly wise in deceiving the world with his mortifi- 
cations; content with the knowledge that God had 
of his actions, and well aware that ' the Father who 
seeth in secret would render to him openly.' Yet 
in the midst of the duties of his public station, at 
the bar, on the bench, and in his embassies a- foreign 
courts, he continued to practise the mortifications of 
a reluse; and when forced, in his office of chancel- 
lor, to mingle more frequently amidst the corruptions 
of the court, he did but redouble these practices of 
devotion,* From the eye of the world these aus- 
teritius were scrupuously concealed; they were 
among the secrets of which his beloved daughter 
Margaret was the sole depository. She was in the 
habit of washing with her own hands the hair- 
shirt which he habitually wore, and which we have 
seen carefully conveyed to her on the eve of his 
execution. 

Even Dr. Wordsworth is so condescending as to 
allow, that no where has he " found popery associ- 
ated with greater piety and heavenly-mindedness 
than in Sir Thomas More." — Eccks. Biog. Pref. 
xviii. 

Even Burnet, though he represents More as " su- 
perstitiously devoted to the interests and passions 
of the clergy, serving them when in authority, and 
assisting them in all their cruelties," yet is obliged 
to confess, that he is "one of the glories of the na- 
tion for probity and learning; and for justice, con- 
tempt of money, humility, and a true generosity of 

* We may apply to More what was happily paid of anoiher 
jllustrsous character; " He was one of those divine men, who, 
Jikeachapel iti a palace, remain unprofaned, while all around 
is disorder and corruption." 



364 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

mind, he was an example to the age in which he 
lived."— (p. 356.) 

A moralist has said, that " to be a good man and 
a disagreeable one, is a kind of treason against vir- 
tue:" and yet there are those who would fain have 
good men, if not disagreeable, at least austere and 
morose. Thus Old Hall describes More as " a man 
well-learned in the tongues, and also in the common 
law, whose wit was fine, and fall of imaginations, 
by reason whereof he was much given to mocking, 
which was to his gravity a great blemish." In an- 
other place this most solemn of historians remarks: 
" I cannot tell whether 1 should call him a foolish 
wise-man, or a wise-foolish man;* for undoubtedly, 
besides his learning, he had a great wit, but it was 
so mingled with taunting and mocking, that it seem- 
ed to those that best knew him, that he thought no- 
thing to be well spoken, except he had ministered 
some mock in the communication." The court-his- 
torian is particularly displeased with the "mock- 
ing" in the following instance: — " Even when go- 
ing to liis death, at the Tower gate, a poor woman 
asked him for certain evidences of hers, in the time 
he was in office, which, after he was apprehended, 
she could not come by. He answered: ' My good 
woman, have patience but a little while longer; for 
the king is so good to me, that, within this half hour 
or so, he will discharge me of all business, and help 
thee himself.' " 

Herbert says of him: " His jests were thought to 
have too much levity in them; he might have resign- 
ed his dignity without using such sarcasms, and 
have betaken himself to a more retired and quiet 



* This ill natured antithesis called forth the following well- 
turned epigram : — 

H £/ot£ fx.ei}^Qa-0(pov y.sv &v ejttoi? « cro<pofA.a)^ov, 

Wise-foolish, foolish-wise! — nay, not so odd : 

To the world foolish, but how wise to God ! W. 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES, 365 

life, without making his family and himself con- 
temptible." 

Fuller's observations on this point are in his pe- 
culiar way: " Some ground we have in England, 
neither so light and loose as sand, nor so stiff and 
binding as clay, but a mixture of both, regarded as 
the surest soil for profit and pleasure to grow to- 
gether: of such a soil was Sir Thomas More, in 
whom facetiousness and judiciousness were excel- 
lently tempered together. And yet some have taxed 
him, that he wore a feather in his cap, and wagged 
it too often; meaning that he was over-free in his 
fancies and conceits. Even at the scaffold — a place 
not to break jests on, but to break off jesting — he 
could not contain. Now though innocency may 
smile at death, surely it is unfit to flout thereat." 

But let us listen to those who knew Sir Thomas 
better, and have described him to the life. On the 
subject of his habitual gaiety of mind. Roper says, 
"he has the art to temper all serious matters with 
some witty device or other." " Always season- 
ing," says Rastell, " the troublesomeness of the 
matter with some merry jest or pleasant tale, as it 
were the sweet to tempt us more willingly to drink 
of the wholesome drug."* 

When delivered of his jest, says Cresacre, he 
was never seen to laugh himself, but always spoke 
it so gravely, that few could see by his look whether 
he spoke in earnest or not.| "And yet," adds his 

* Cosi air egro fanciul porgiamo aspersi 
Di soave licor gli orii del vaso ; 
Succhi ainari iiigatmalo jiitaiito ei beve, 
E dall iiiganno suo vita riceve. Tasso. 

So to the child, in sickness languishing, 

Its edge with honey liug'd the cup we bring; 

He drinks the healing bitter in the sweet, 

For life indebted to the happy cheat. W. 

t "Ye use to look so sadly when ye mean merrily, that many 
times men doubt whether ye speak in sport, or mean in good 
earnest."— Jlfore's Dialogue, p. 18. 

"Wit is the more pointed for being dry and serious, for it 
then seems as if the speaker himself had no intention in it, 
and that we were the tirst to lind it oaty—Hazlitt. 
31* 



366 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

faithful historian, " though he never left his mirth 
in outward appearance, his heart was ever humble 
and mortified, and he exercised acts of self-denial 
which worldly men would have wondered at." 

More had his wit-word* at every turn. The 
reader has seen numerous instances in the course of 
our narrative; but we cannot resist the opportunity 
of quoting one or two other examples. 

Hearing a friend of his accuse his wife of being 
a shrew, he said to him, with his usual immovable 
gravity — " Nay, nay, my friend, you defame the 
good woman, and so do all those who say the like 
of their wives. There is but one shrew in the 
world, and, with reverence be it spoken, that is my 
own— and so may every man say that is married." 
But, adds the author of the anonymous life, with 
much gravity, " Sir Thomas so much bettered the 
state of mind of this wife of his, that I doubt not 
she is a saved sou], and that they now enjoy each 
other's company in bliss." 

More had lent a sum of money to a man, and not 
finding it forthcoming at the time promised, took 
occasion to give him a gentle hint respecting it. — 
Instead of satisfying Sir Thomas, the borrower be- 
gan to moralise on the thing; he said our sojourn 
here below was short, that we were too apt to set 
our hearts upon riches; that we might be called 
away, heaven knows how soon, and then we should 
have littJe use of money, and tlierefore, added he, 
-nitmento morieris. "There, you have it," said Sir 
Thomas; " follow up your maxim — Memento Mori 
eeris (Remember More's money)." 

Some one, more busy about other persons' affairs 
than his own, plucking him by the sleeve one day, 
and lamenting how much Price, Wolsey's secreta- 
ry, had disgraced himself by appearing at a mas- 
querade in a fool's coat: " Nay, nay, excuse him," 
said More; " it is less hurtful to the commonwealth, 

* We would venture to propose the revival of this expres- 
sive old Saxon term, which exactly corresponds to the mot of 
the French, and is more comprehensive than our saying. 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 367 

when wise men go in fools' coats, in jest, than when 
fools g-o in wise men's, in earnest." 

There is no man so morose, says Erasmus, whom 
his playful humor cannot relax; there is no matter, 
however dry and forbidding, to which his wit can- 
not impart grace and vivacity. 

The difference is immense between the natural 
humorist, like More, and the man who labors to 
amuse others, or who indulges his own spleen at 
the expense of his neighbors: in the latter, ridi- 
cule is an exotic; in the former, it is the sponta- 
neous growth of the soil. 

The great master of human life might almost be 
thought to have had Sir Thomas in his eye, in the 
following sketch: 

A merrier man, 
Within the limit of becoming mirth, 
I never spent an hour's talk withal: 
His eye begets occasion for his wit— 
For, every object that the one doth catch, 
The other turns to a mirth-moving jest; 
Which his fair tongue— conceit's expositor — 
Delivers in such apt and gracious words. 
That aged ears play truant at his tales, 
And younger hearings are quite ravished, 
i;o sweet and voluble is his discourse. 

Shakspeare. 

There was a certain dash of singularity in More's 
dress, as in every thing else. Erasmus says that 
h« used to wear his lawyer^s gown awry, which 
gave him the appearance of having one shoulder 
higher than the other. And as the peculiarities of 
every great man are sure to find imitators, old As- 
cham tells us that other lawyers would imitate this 
negligent air of his; and yet, adds he, slily, though 
they contrived to resemble him in this, they were 
most unlike him in the more essential things of wit 
and learning. Cresacre tells us that he had no care 
what apparel he wore, insomuch that being once 
told by his secretary, Harris, that he had no shoes 
fit to put on; well, says he, tell " my tutor" to look 
to it— for by that name he called the servant to 
whose discretion he left the management of his 



388 SIR THOMAS MORE, 

wardrobe— "never troubling his mind about such 
matters." 

Sir Thomas More is thus described by his grand- 
son: — " He was somewhat low in stature, yet well 
proportioned; his complexion pale, his hair neither 
black nor yellow [probably chesnut], his eyes gray, 
his countenance amiable and cheerful, his voice 
neither loud nor shrill, but speaking plainly and 
distinctly; though he delighted much in music, it 
was not very tuneable; his health tolerably good, 
only that towards his latter end, by using much 
writing, he complained of a pain in his breast. 

" His table was well supplied, yet he ate only of 
one dish himself, which was usually salted meat. 
He was fond of coarse brown bread, milk, cheese, 
eggs, and fruit. In his youth he wholly abstained 
from wine; and in his latter years he took it only 
diluted with water, or when he pledged his friends." 

Rastell represents More as fond of natural his- 
tory; we quote his words: " He had great pleasure 
in beholding the form and fashion of beasts and 
fowl of all kinds. There was scarcely any sort of 
birds that he had not in his house. He kept an 
ape, a fox, a weasel, a ferret, and other beasts more 
rare. If there were any strange thing brought out 
of other countries, and worthy to be looked on, he 
was desirous to buy it." 

In summing up the character of his friend, Eras- 
mus says, that More was gay without buffoonery; 
that his society was so captivating, that however 
downcast a person might be when he first approach- 
ed him, it was impossible not to be cheered and en- 
livened by his company; that, from his very child- 
hood, he had been fond of pleasantry, but that it 
never degenerated into ribaldry. That though he 
loved ease and tranquillity, no one, when occasion 
required it, was more earnest in any undertaking. 

We cannot conclude more appropriately than by 
the eloquent tribute to More's memory from the pen 
of Macdiarmid. 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 369 

" We have now seen the rise, progress, and end 
of a man, singular in the history of his species, 
and affording examples worthy of imitation to every 
individual of his race. In private life, as a son, a 
husband, a father, a master, and a friend, no cha- 
racter can be contemplated with greater delight, no 
conduct imitated with more certain advantage. — 
Careful to discharge every duty which he owed, 
and limiting his good offices, not by the claims of 
duty, but by the extent of his power, he found all 
the relations which united him to his fellow men, 
cemented by affection, and strengthened by grati- 
tude. Within the circle of his own family, by per- 
suading where he might have commanded, by 
alluring where he might have threatened, by being 
familiar where he might have been haughty, by 
employing ridicule in place of severity, and min- 
gling good humor with every injunction, he was be- 
loved without any mixture of dread, and obeyed 
with all the alacrity of affection. Anxious that the 
objects of his fondest attachment should be endued 
with every quality which ceuid dignify their na- 
ture, or secure their felicity, he enforced his instruc- 
tions by example; and the perpetual happiness 
which seemed to flow from his activity, his ardent 
love of literature, his integrity, his beneficence, his 
piety, proved an irresistible admonition to the prac- 
tice of his precepts. 

" His public life exhibited a combination of vir- 
tues and vicissitudes rarely presented in the history 
of our race. Without having ever deviated, or been 
suspected to deviate from the strictest integrity, he 
rose to the greatest eminence as a lawyer, and the 
highest rank as a statesman. Without having em- 
barked in one court intrigue, or been guilty of one 
improper compliance, he obtained the complete con- 
fidence of an arbitrary monarch: he enjoyed this 
confidence for years, without having requested one 
personal favor. Although the only art which he 
employed to obtain success in his profession, or the 



370 SrR THOMAS MORE, 

favor of his prince, was the strenuous and unre- 
mitting discharge of the duties of his station; yet 
such was the influence which he acquired over the 
minds of men, that he was loaded with professional 
business amidst an extensive competition, and com- 
pelled by his sovereign to accept of the most covet- 
ed public employments. As a pleader, his exer- 
tions were never unapplauded; as a judge, his de- 
cisions were never controverted; as a statesman, his 
counsels were never suspected. In one unfortunate 
conjuncture, we find the prejudices of education and 
the violence of theological dissensions, confounding 
his better judgment, and hurrying him into acts, 
which neither justice nor humanity can pass uncen- 
sured: yet, even then, he acted from mistaken 
principle. 

"The succeeding transactions of his life present 
only objects of admiration. Anxiously procuring 
his dismission from office, when he could no longer 
serve his country without sacrificing his integrity, 
he retired from power, splendor, and affluence, to 
all the privations of a poverty, the fruit of his dis- 
interested patriotism. Yet his cheerfulness suffer- 
ed no diminution; and if he looked back on his for- 
mer state, it was only Mnth a smile of satisfaction 
at the temptations which he had escaped. As the 
closing prospects of life darkened around him, his 
unaltered mind appeared only more brilliant from 
the contrast; and his departure from the world 
seemed too desirable to excite regret. Many have 
met their undeserved death on the scaffold with un- 
daunted heroism; but few have so completely over- 
come the apprehension of quitting life, the anguish 
of parting with friends, and indignation at the ma- 
lice of enemies, as to display, in their behavior, no 
constrained fortitude, no affected tranquillity, no ill- 
disguised bitterness at the injustice of their fate. 
Yet so well did the mind of More appear reconciled 
to the world, and tempered for the next, that he 
seemed well-pleased with his stay, yet gratified 



HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 371 

with his departure. On the scaffold, he proved by 
example, that there is nothincr to excite dismay, no- 
thing- to call forth pity, in the death of the innocent: 
and fell a memorable martyr in the cause of inte- 
grity, a memorable instance of the ascendancy which 
the human mind may acquire over every antagonist 
with which it is destined to combat." 



APPENDIX. 



Ho. I. (Seepage 143.) 

Queen Catherine and King Henry to Cardinal Wohey: 
a joint letter — (1527.) 

My Lord:— In the most humble wise that my 
heart can think, I pray yoa to pardon me that 1 am 
so bold to trouble you with my simple and rude 
writing-, esteeming- it to proceed from her that is 
much desirous to know that your grace does well, 
as I perceive by this bearer that you do; the which 
I pray God long to continue, as I am most bound to 
pray; fori do know that the great pains and trouble 
you have taken for me, both day and night, is never 
likely to be recompensed on my part, but only in 
loving- you next unto the king's grace above all 
creatures living; and do not doubt but the daily 
proofs of my deeds shall manifestly declare and af- 
firm my writing- to be true, and I trust you do think 
the same. My lord, I do assure you that 1 do much 
desire to hear from you some news of the Legate, 
for I do hope as they come from you they shall be 
very good, and I am sure that you desire it as much 
as I, and more an it were possible, as I know it is 
not. Confirmed in a stedfast hope, I make an end 
of my letter, written with the hand of her that is 
most bound to be — — 

[Here Queen Catherine's part ends, and Henry 
concludes the letter.] 

The writer of this letter would not cease till she 
had caused me likewise to set to my hand, desiring 
32 



374 APPENDIX. 

you, though it be short, to take it in good part. 1 
assure you there is neither of us but that greatly 
desireth to see you, and much more rejoice to hear 
that you have escaped this plague so well, trusting 
the fury thereof to be passed, specially with them 
that keep good diet, as I trust you do. The not 
hearing of the Legate's arrival in France causeth 
us somewhat to muse; notwithstanding we trust, 
by your diligence and vigilancy (with the assistance 
of Almighty God), shortly to be eased out of that 
trouble. So no more to you at this time, but that 
I pray God send you as good health and prosperity 
as the writers would. 

By your loving Sovereign and Friend, 

HENRY R. 

This is a highly interesting letter, as furnishing another 
proof, among the many, that, whatever were Henry's scruples, 
if any such indeed troubled his mind, or however blinded by his 
criminal passion for Anne Boleyn, or determined at all hazards 
to get rid of Catherine, he could not but respect her. It is evi- 
dent that the queen's mind is full of anxiety for the coming of 
Cardinal Campeggio, and this feeling is earnestly, naturally, 
and undisguisedly expressed; not so the manner in which the 
king speaks of it; his expressions, though simple in appearance, 
will, if duly weighed, be found cautious, and calculated to meet 
the unsuspecting eye of the queen. 



No. 2. {See page 201.) 

Morels Epitaph, composed by himself. 

THOMAS MORUS, 

Urbe Londinensi, familia non celebri sed honesta, 
natus, in literis utcunque versatus, quum et causas 
aliquot annos juvenis egisset in foro, et in urbe sua 
pro Shyrevo jus dixisset,ab invictissimo rege Hen- 
rico octavo (cui uni regum omnium gloria prius in- 
audita contigit, ut Fidei Defensor, qualem et gla- 
dio se et calamo vere prestitit, merito vocaretur) ad- 
scitus in Aulam est, delectusque in Consilium, et 
creatus Eques, Proquestor primiim post Cancella- 



APPENDIX. 375 

rius Lancastriae, tandem Angliee, miro Principis fa- 
vore factus est. Sed interim in publico regni Se- 
natu lectus est Orator populi ; praeterea legatus 
regis nonnunquam fuit alias alibi; postremo vero 
Cameraci comes et collega junctus principi legati- 
onis Cuthberto Tunstallo, turn Londinensi mox Du- 
nelmensi episcopo, quo viro vix habet orbis hodie 
eruditius,prudentius, melius. Ibi inter summos or- 
bis Christian! monarchas rursus refecta fosdera, red- 
ditamque mundo diu desideratam pacem, et laetisis- 
mus vidit, et legatus interfuit. Quam Superi pacem 
firment faxintque perennem! In hoc ofRciorum vel 
honorum cursu quum ita versaretur ut neque prin- 
ceps optimus operam ejus improbaret, neque nobili- 
bus esset invisus, nee injucundos populo, furibus 
autem, homocidis, [ ]* molestus, pater 

ejus tandem Joannes Morus, eques, et in eum ju- 
dicum ordinem a principe cooptatus, qui regius 
consessus vocatur, homo civilis, suavis, innocens, 
mitis, misericors, aequus, et integer, annis quidem 
gravis, sed corpore plusquam pro <etate virido, post- 
quam eo productam sibi vitam vidit, ut filium vide- 
ret Anglise Cancellarium, satis in terra jam se mora- 
tum ratus, libens emigravit in coelum. At filius, 
defuncto patre, cui quamdiu supererat comparatus 
et juvenis vocari consueverat, et ipse quoque sibi 
videbatur, amissum jam patrem requirens, et editos 
ex se liberos quatuor acnepotesundecimrespiciens, 
apud animum suum ca3pit petsenescere. Auxit 
hunc affectum animi subsecuta statim, velut adpe- 
tentis senii signum, pectoris valetudo deterior. Ita- 
que mortalium harum rerum satur, quam rem apuero 



* This blank was filled up, or iiitetided to be filled up with 
the word hereticisquc. As the blank, however, is perfectly 
plain, and no symptom of erasure appears on the marble, it 
may be supposed that More, from farther reflection, rather 
chose to have a space vacant for the word, than actually to 
inscribe it. Another explanation has been given. It is con- 
ji^ctured that in the reparation of the monument by one of 
More's descendants, the obnoxious word was omitted. The 
perfect smoothness of the marble seems, hov.'ever, to favor the 
former supposition —Macdiarnnd, p J 7. 



376 APPENDIX. 

pene semper optaverat, ut ultimos aliquot vita? siue 
annos obtineret liberos, quibus hujus vitae neg-ociis 
paulatim se abducens, t'lituree posset immortalita- 
teni meditari, earn rein tandem (sic coeptis annuit 
Deus) indulgentissimi principis incomparabili be- 
neficio resignatis bonoribus impetravit: atque hoc 
sepulchnim sibi, quod mortis eum nanqaam cessan- 
tis abrepere quotidie commonefaceret, translatis hue 
prioris uxoris ossibus, extruendum curavit. Quod 
ne superstes frustra sibi fecerit, neve ingruentem 
trepidus mortem horreat, sed desiderio Christi 
libens oppetat, mortemque ut sibi non omnino mor- 
tem, sed januam vitae faelicioris inveniat, precibus 
eum piis, lector optime, spirantem precor defunc- 
tumque prosequere. 

Chara Thomae jacet hie Joanna uxorciila* Mori, 

Q,iii tuiiiuluiu Alicia; huiic deMliiio, quique nniii. 
Una mihi dedit hocconjuiieta virentibus annis, 

Me vocet ui puer el trina piiella patrem: 
Altera privicnis (quce gloria rara novercBe est) 

Tam pia qu^m gratis vix fuit ulla snis. 
Altera sic mecuni vixit, sir altera vivit, 

Charior incertum est, hsc sit, an Iiebc fuerit. 
O siinul O jiiiicti poteramus vivere nostres 

Q,uam bene, si fatnni religioqne sinant! 
At societ tumulus, societ nos obsecro coeiurn. 

Sic mors, non poluitquod dare vita, dabil. 



(Translation.) 

THOMAS MORE, 

Born in the city of London, of no disting-uished but 
of an honest family, was somewhat versed in letters; 
in his youth he pleaded at the bar some years, 
and discharged the office of under-sheriii' in that 
city; afterwards by the redoubted King Henry VIII 
(to whom alone among kings accrued the glory, 

* The longer and more labored commendation of Alice is 
outweighed in tenderness by the single word of endearment 
uxorcula, applied to the long-departed companion of his youth. 
— Mackiiitojk. 



J 



APPENDIX. 



377 



before unknown, of being deservedly entitled De- 
fender of the Faith, as indeed he proved himself as 
well by the sword as the pen,) he was called to 
court, chosen a privy-councillor, knighted, and 
made sub-treasurer, chancellor of Lancaster, and at 
length of England, by the distinguished favor of 
his prince. In the meantime, he had been chosen 
speaker of the commons, and appointed envoy to 
various courts, and, last of all, to Cambray, being 
associated with Cuthbert Tunstall, the chief of that 
embassy, then Bishop of London, and since of Dur- 
ham; a man, than whom the world can scarcely 
boast one more learned, or of more prudence and 
virtue. There he had the satisfaction to witness, 
and to negotiate, the renewal of the leagues between 
the chief princes of Christendom, and the restora- 
tion to the world of long-wished for peace; which 
blessing may heaven confirm and long preserve ! 
When he had so traversed this career of duties and 
honors, that neither could his good king disapprove, 
nor the peers of the land, to whom he was no ob- 
ject of envy, nor the people, to whom his services 
were grateful, discommend, though he had been 
severe to thieves, murderers, and [ ]. At 

length, his father, Sir John More,whohad been ap- 
pointed by his majesty a judge in the king's bench, 
a man of courteous and pleasant manners, harmless, 
gentle, full of compassion, just and uncorrupt, old 
indeed in years, yet fresh for his age in bodily 
strength, after living to see his son chancellor of 
England, thinking he had tarried long enough on 
earth, passed willingly to heaven. The son, on the 
death of his father, compared to whom, while he 
lived, he was called a young man, and indeed seem- 
ed so to himself, being now deprived of his father, 
and beholding four children of his own, and eleven 
grandchildren, began to fancy himself growing old, 
and this fancy was strengthened by the immediate 
succession of a disorder in his breast, a symptom 
as it were of approaching age. Having, then, 
tasted plentifully of this world's nursuits— the thing 
32* 



378 APPENDIX. 

he had always wished for from a boy, that he might 
enjoy some of his latter years free, and withdraw- 
ing himself by degrees from the business of the 
world, might have leisure to meditate on immor- 
tality — that thing at last, (God allowing,) by the 
incomparable kindness of his most indulgent king, 
having resigned his honors, he hath obtained; and 
he hath erected this monument, as a constant me- 
morial of his ever-approaching death, having re- 
moved thither the remains of his first wife. That he 
may not have done this in vain while yet he lived, 
that he dread not the approach of death, but meet it 
cheerfully for the love of Christ, and that he find 
death not so much death, as the gate of a happier 
existence, do thou, good reader, assist him with thy 
pious prayers, as well now while he liveth, as after 
his decease. 



Jane, More's dear wife, within this tomb reclines. 
This, More for Alice and himself designs. 
The first, who won me with her youthful charms, 
Blest with three daughters and a son these arms: 

The next — ah! vir . - in a step-dame rare! 
Nnrsed my swe" I'ants with a mothr^r's care. 
With both my ye^.s so happily have sped. 
Both have my hear', the living and the dead. 

Had not religion's sacred law denied, 
How sweetly had the triple knot been tied! 
We, whom the tomb unites, in heaven shall live, 
And death shall grant us what life could not give. 



INDEX. 



j9Z/c8, Morf's second wife, her 
character, 38.— -Her visit to 
More in the Tower, 274.— Her 
letter to Crumwell, 276 

Alington, Airs., her letter to 
IMarfjaret Roppr, 278. 

Audley, Lord. Mofe's succe.s- 
s r in the chancellorship, 196.— 
Anecdotes of, 195, 278.— ['re- 
sides at More's trial, 317. 

Barton, Elizabeth, the Nun 
of Kent, her visions, trial, and 
expcution, 234. 

Boleijn, Anne, her first ap- 
pearance at court, 117. — Com- 
mencement of Henry's passion, 
JIB. — ;^he is driven from the 
court by the reigning epidemic, 
139.— Her return there, 143.— 
Her letters to V\'olsey, 143 —Is 
removed from court on occasion 
of Campeggio's arrival, 148. — 
Is recalled, but makes Cathe- 
rine's dismis-sal the terms of her 
return, 150. — Attends Cathe- 
rine, s trial, 157. — Brings about 
Wolsey's disgrace, 162. — Is pri- 
vately married to Henry, in a 
garret in Whitehall, 222. — Is 
crowned the first of June, and 
gives birth to Elizabeth the 
S?eptember following, 223.— An- 
ecdote of, 308. 

Campeggio, Cardinal, arrival 
in London, 148. — His reception, 
148.— His visit to Catherine, 
1-19. — Conduct on the trial, 153. 
— His departure, 159. 

Catherine, dueen, her mar- 
riage with Henry, 31. — Her 
piety and learning, 32 —Her 
reception of Wolsey and Cam- 
peggio, 149.— Her letter to the 



Pope, 151.— Her conduct at her 
trial, 153.— Refuses to forego 
her titleof wife and queen, 223^ 
Her regard for More to the last, 
361. 

Charles V, his visit to Lon- 
don, 89. — His remarks to Sir 
Thomas Elliot on the legal 
murder of More, 355. 

Colet, Dean, account of, 21.— 
Spiritual director to More, 21. 
—Letter to, from More, 22. 

Cranmer, rise of, 218. — Mar'e 
Archbishop of Canterbury, 219. 
— Pronounces the divorce be- 
tween Henry and Catherine, 
220 — Intercedes in behaif of 
More and Fisher, 264. 

Crumwell, rise of, l^o — Sug- 
gests to Henry the idea of de« 
daring himself head of the 
ciiurch, 188.— Interests himself 
for More, 303.— His letter to 
the English ambassador in Pa- 
ris, 355. ^ 

Dauncey, More's son-in-law, 
anecdote of, 176. 

Dorpius, More's discussion 
wiih,35. 

Elizabeth, Queen of Henry 
VII., More's verses on her 
death, 20. 

Erasmus, his early intimacy 
with More, 17. — Corresponds 
with him abroad, 34.— Revisits 
England, and lives under 
Mores rv)of, 35.— His errors, 
214. 

Fox, Bishop of Winchester, 
anecdote of, 26. 

Francis 1., his visit to Lon» 
don, 85. 

Henry VII. takes offence at 



380 



More's early patriotism, 26.— 
His death, 27. 

Henry VI I L, his early educa- 
tion, 2J. — His accession, 31. — 
Marries Catherine of Spain, ib 

— His intimacy with More, 85. 
— His book against Luther, 94. 

— Is rewarded with the title of 
Defender of the Faith, 95 —His 
passion for Anne Boleyn, and 
consequent scruples relative to 
his marriage with Catherine, 
116.— Consults More on the sub- 
ject, J19.— His change of mind 
during the prevailing epidemic, 
13'J. — His conduct ""when the 
danger was past, 143. — Again 
presses IViore on the subject of 
the divorce, 182 —Secures the 
opinion of the universities at 
home in his favor, by gold and 
by threats, 183.— Tries the same 
exprtriment on other universi- 
ties, with various success, 184. 
— Raises Cranmer to the See of 
Canterbury, 219. — Empowers 
him to pronounce the divorce, 
2 .0. — But five months previous- 
ly he has married Anne Boleyn 
in private. 222. — It is confirmed 
by the universities and the cler- 
gy in the title of supremacy, 231. 
— ^-eitles the succession upon 
the offspring of his last, to the 
exclusion of that of his first 
marriage. 232. — His conduct to 
Bishop Fisher, 253 —Character 
of his reign, 32!i. — Conduci. at 
More's death, 359.— Treatment 
of More's family, 360. 

Holbein, the painter, anec 
dote of, 71. 

Jean, More's first wife, 24. 

Leo X. treats Luther's first 
revolt with contempt, 91. — Con 
demns his writings, 92. 

Luther, his rise, 90. — Motives 
of his revolt, 91. — Repents and 
submits to the Pope, 91. — Hi 
second revolt. 92. —His writings 
condemned, 92. — Burnt in Eng 
land, 94. — His scurrilous reply 
to Henry VllL, 95.— His apolo 
gy, 95.— Supposed to have had 
a touch of insanity, 97. 

More, Sir John, account of, 
13. — Anecdotes, 14. — Is impri 



soned for his son, 26— Rever- 
ence in which he is held by him, 
173.— His death, 188. 

Move, Sir Thomas, his ances- 
try, 13. — Early education, 15. — 
Is placed in the service of Car- 
dinal Morton, 15.— Early tal- 
ents and wit, 16.— Is sent to 
Oxford, 17.— His studies and 
discipline there, 18.— His love 
of the Greek language, i/>.— Re- 
turns to London, and studies 
the law, 19. — His inclination 
for a religious life, ib. — Deli- 
vers a course of lectures, 21. — 
Chooses the celebrated i/ean 
Colet for his spiritual director, 
ib.—Uis letter to Colet, 22— He 
marries, 24. — Is elected to the 
house of commons, 25. — In- 
stance of his early patriotism, 
2tj. — Incurs the displeasure of 
Henry VII., 27.— More's first 
production, 28 —His poverty, 
ib. — Is made under-sheriff of 
London, 33. — Anecdote, 34. — 
He marries a second time, 37. 

His History of Richaid, III., 
39. — Got^s i)n a mission to 
Bruges, 40, — The friendships he 
forms there, 42. — Composes his 
Utopia, 43.— His letter on the 
same to Archbishop Warham, 
ib. — Distinguishes himself by 
pleading a cause for the Pope, 
57 — Is knighted, and made mas- 
ter of the Requests, i6.— Anec- 
dote, 48. — His residence at Chel- 
sea, 51 —Improvements made 
by him there, 52. — Kconomy of 
his establishment, ift. — His cha- 
rities, 62. — His devotional ex- 
ercises, 57.— Conduct to his son- 
in-law, Roper, 59.— The educa- 
tion of his children, 61. — Let- 
ters to hit! children, 63. — His 
son John, 68. — His favorite 
daughter, Margaret, 69 —His 
correspondence, 71. — His family 
fool, 73. — More at court, 77. — 
lixerts his influence in quelling 
a popular commntjon in the 
city, 79.— His letter to the Uni- 
versity of Oxford, 80.— Is made 
treasurer of the exchequer, 84. 
— Acts as orator on occasion of 
Francis l.'s first visit to Lon- 



381 



don, 85.— His intimacy with 
Henry, ib. — His second mission 
to Bruges, 87.— Pronounces an 
oration on the visit of Charles 
V. to London, 89.- Anecdote, 
93 —Writes against Luther, 97. 
— Is chosen speaker of the com- 
mons, 98 — His reply on the oc- 
casion, i& — His political oppo- 
sition to Wolsey, 102.— His per- 
sonal friendship with him, 107. 
He is made chancellor of the 
Imchy of Lancaster, 120.— Is 
consulted by Henry on the sub- 
ject of the divorce, 119.— Ac- 
companies Wolsey in his em- 
bassy to France, 121. — On his 
return, devotes himself to con- 
troversy, 132.— His religio-po- 
{itical profession of faith, 134. 
— Anecdotes, 137. — His solici- 
tude for the life of his daughter 
Margaret, 143.— His third em- 
bassy to the Netherlands, 145 
Anecdote, 145. — His family dis- 
aster, and letter on the occa- 
sion, 26— More is raised to the 

CHANCELLORSHIP, 166. — Hi 

stalmnnt, speech of the Duke of 
Norfolk, and More's reply. 167. 
— < 'ontrast of Morels simplicity 
with the pomp of his predeces- 
sor, 174. — His reforms in the 
court of Chancery, 176 —His 
speech on the opening of par- 
liament, 177.— Evades the soli- 
citations of Henry on the sub- 
ject of the divorce, 181.— Solicits 
permission to retire from office, 
193.— Anecdotes, 191-194.-His 
retirement to Chelsea, 197.— 
Anecdote, 198. — Composes a 
monumental inscription for 
himself and family, 201.— His 
poverty, 203.— The offering of 
the clergy, which he refuses, 204 
— Accused by his enemies of 
having been bribc^d, 206.— His 
new domestic arrangements, 
207.— He devotes his leisure to 
controversy, 211.— specimens of 
his polemic talents, 212.— He 
is invited to attend the corona- 
tion of Anne Baleyn, but re- 
fuses, 222.— Is accused of hav- 
ing written against a work on 



the divorce, published by au- 
thority, 227.— Clears himself of 
the imputation in a letter to 
Crumvvell, 227. — An attempt to 
implicate More with Bishop 
Fisher in the affair of the Nun 
of Kent, 234.— His letter on this 
subject to Crumvvell, 237.— To 
the king. 241. — Is summoned to 
take the oath, 255.— His house 
is searched, 2.56.— Bids his fami- 
ly farewell, 257.— His examina- 
tion before the commissioners, 
251.— Refuses to take the oath, 
and is committed to the Tower, 
2.59. — Writes to Margaret on 
this subject, ib. — Anecdotes, 
266. — His firmness and resigna- 
tion, 268.— His letter to Marga- 
ret, 271. — His first interview 
with her, 272. — Is twice visited 
in the Tower by the commis- 
sioners, 299. — Describes the 
scene to Margaret, 300-303.— 
His observation on Anne Bo- 
leyn,308. — Works composed by 
him in prison, 309. — His cor- 
respondet;ce discovered, 309. — 
Is deprived of writing mate- 
rials, and obliged to scrawl on 
scraps of paper with a coal, 310. 
—Is betrayed by Ricli, 311.— 
His " Reflections" in the Tow- 
er, 312.- Anecdotes, 313.— His 
prison recreations, 314 —Note 
to Margaret, 315 — Sees the 
three prisoners led toexecution, 
316.— Is brought to trial, 317.— 
His reply, 318. — His reproof of 
Rich's treachery, 322 —He is 
pronounced guilty, 326. — His 
exposition of his principles, 327. 
— Touching scene on Tower 
vt^harf, 330 —Interrogatories to 
\Iore after his condemnation, 
332.— Preparations for his end, 
^39. — Last letter to Margaret, 
341.— His prayer in the Tower, 
244— Is led forth to execution, 
M7.— His last moments. 348.— 
His character, 350 — Sentiments 
on his death, 353. — His piety, 
364.— His humor, 3(54— His per- 
son, dress, habits of life, 367. 

More, John, Sir Thomas's son, 
account of, 68. 



382 



Morton, Cardinal, receives 
More into his family, 15. — An- 
ecdotes, ]7. 

Mountjoy, Lord, anecdote of, 
30. 

JVorfolk, Duke of, his speech 
on More's instalment in the 
chancellorship, 167. 

Roper, William, his relapse, 
and reconciliation to the 
Church, 59.— Anecdotes of, 19J, 
223, 256, 
Roper, Margaret, superintends 
her father's charities, 52. — Her 
correspondence with her father, 
64, 66, 69.— Is restored to health 
hy his prayers, 142.— Letter to 
him in the Tower, 262. — Project 
for obtaining access to him, 
270.— Letter from him on the 
subject, 271. — Her first inter- 
view with him in the Tower, 
293,— Letter to Mrs. Alington, 
230. — Her last interview with 
her father, 330. — Last letter 
from him, 341.— Anecdotes, 342, 
3til. 

Tindall, More's controversy 
with him, 132, 212. 

Tiinstall, Bishop of Durham, 
More's embassy with him, 40. 
— More's eulogium of, 42. 



Warham, Archbishop, resigns 
the chancellorship, 43. — More's 
letter to, 43. — Anecdotes of, 
145. 

Wilson, Dr., More's fellow- 
prisoner, 297. — More's letters to 
him, 298. 

Winn, Charles, Esq., the pre- 
sent representative of the Cres- 
acres, 72. 

IVolsey, Cardinal, his ac- 
quaintance with More at Col- 
lege, 18. — Recommends him to 
Henry, 40.— His early efforts in 
the cause of education, 83. — 
Goes in procession to St. Paul's, 
and burns the books of Luther, 
94. — Is opposed by More in par- 
liament, 102.— His friendly of- 
fices to More. 107.— Sketch of 
Wolsey, 108.— His fruitless op- 
position to Henry's marriage 
with Anne Boleyn, 118. — His 
embassy to France, 121. — His 
conduct on the trial of Cathe- 
rine, 153. — First symptoms of 
his disgrace, 160. — Anne Bo- 
leyn's doings, 162. — He is at- 
tainted, and his goods confis- 
cated, 163.— The state of dis- 
tress to which he is reduced, 
164. 



